


Equilibrium

by leigh57



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-06
Updated: 2013-03-06
Packaged: 2017-12-04 12:19:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 54,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/710708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leigh57/pseuds/leigh57
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I do it all for you, alwaysashipper;) Okay but seriously, so many thanks to you guys who have left such lovely comments after all these years. It makes me smile so much.</p><p>Also, this was the very first fanfic I ever posted. All the thanks and so much love go out to all you guys I met through this amazing fandom: A, A, J, K, and E.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do it all for you, alwaysashipper;) Okay but seriously, so many thanks to you guys who have left such lovely comments after all these years. It makes me smile so much.
> 
> Also, this was the very first fanfic I ever posted. All the thanks and so much love go out to all you guys I met through this amazing fandom: A, A, J, K, and E.

The water was freezing. Elliot tasted salt, sand, and blood. Slamming his body upward, he sucked in half a breath before the hands gripping his neck forced his face below the surf again. He tried to jam his shoulders up once more, but the pain from what he assumed were several broken ribs overcame him, and his body wouldn't obey. It was a strange sensation, the abrupt disconnect between mental command and physical response. He stopped struggling, suddenly relaxed. For a split second, the situation seemed almost funny. He could hear the chatter in the halls of the precinct. Elliot Stabler, the guy with the reputation for knocking perps around and being a volatile pain in the ass, beaten to a pulp and then drowned by some idiot snitch half his size. The perfect capper to a terrific couple of years. Hadn't he read somewhere that drowning was a great way to go?  
  
His kids. Oh god. Olivia. What the fuck was he thinking? Willing himself to ignore the fact that he couldn't breathe, the knifelike pain lancing through his chest, he jammed one foot backwards with as much force as his exhausted body could gather. Elliot felt his heel connect with some part of his attacker's anatomy, but the hands around his neck didn't loosen even fractionally. Fuck. An odd sense of quiet settled over him as he realized that this time, there wasn't going to be a way out. Against his will, he tried to breathe, and saltwater rushed into his lungs. Just as he began to lose consciousness, he heard a muffled pop, followed by the oppressive feeling of even more weight pushing him down. As he faded out, snatches from his last conversation with Olivia played in his head. Her voice -- soft, warm, teasing. "When I get back, will you actually talk to me, just to be novel?" _I'm sorry, Liv. I'm so sorry._  
  
________________  
  
Sitting at her desk in the Phoenix FBI field office, Olivia stared at the file she had been perusing for over an hour, as if looking at it one more time might yield a clue she hadn't picked up yet. She'd been awake all night, working up a serious caffeine buzz while trying to finish the last of the paperwork related to her undercover stint with the FBI and the Department of Homeland Security. As much as she had wanted to leave New York two months ago, she now wanted nothing more than to go home. She sipped black coffee and wiggled a pencil back and forth between her fingers, listening to the repetitive swish of the copier in the background. When the phone on her desk rang, she started slightly, and lifted the receiver without looking up from her file.  
  
"Benson." Her voice was businesslike. Distracted.  
  
"Olivia. It's Don."  
  
Don. Not Cragen. Don. She dropped the pencil and sat upright so abruptly that the file balanced on her lap slid to the floor. Trying to keep the tremor out of her voice, she asked, "What's happened?"  
  
"It's Elliot. You need to fly back here as soon as you can. He's in the hospital. They. . . " He trailed off for a moment, searching for the words he wanted.  
  
"They what?" She tried to breathe in, but all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room.  
  
"They don't know if he's going to. . . . They think he might not make it. But nobody seems to be sure of exactly. . ." He cut himself off in the middle of his sentence. Paused. "I called as soon as I could. I knew you'd want to be here."  
  
She nodded as if he could see her. "I'm on my way to the airport. Which hospital?"  
  
"New York Hospital of Queens. I'll see you soon, Olivia."  
  
"Yeah." She slammed the receiver into its cradle so loudly that several of her coworkers glanced up from their desks. She yanked the handle to the drawer where she kept her purse, forgetting that she always locked it. "Shit!" she said, more loudly than she had intended. She fumbled through another drawer until she found the key, then picked up her purse and her coat. As she walked out of the office, one word repeated itself inside her head. Please. Please. _Please_.  
  
________________  
  
By the time Olivia stepped out of a cab onto the sidewalk in front of New York Hospital of Queens, dusk had fallen. She had no idea how much time had passed since Cragen's call. Each minute on the plane had seemed to stretch out, as if the hands on her watch might be moving backwards if she had bothered to look at it. Now, as the automatic doors slid open in front of her, she tried to shut out all the "What ifs?" that threatened to smother her, and focus instead on getting the information she wanted. All the introspection could wait. If Elliot died, she'd have all the time in the world for introspection.  
  
At the information desk, Olivia struggled to be polite as she inquired about Elliot's room number. With a perfunctory "Thank you" to the bubbly young woman at the computer, she almost ran to the elevator, jamming her thumb into the button several times before she could stop herself. After following the signs at the top of the hallway, she opened the door to the ICU waiting room to find herself standing not more than three feet away from Kathy Stabler.  
  
"Kathy." Olivia hoped her voice didn't sound as surprised and off-guard as she felt. Of course Kathy would be here. Where else would she be?  
  
"Olivia." Kathy's voice wasn't warm, and she didn't seem inclined to say anything else.  
  
 _Ask the question, Olivia. Just ask_. "How is he?" Olivia managed, before the knot in her throat became so large that she didn't trust herself to speak further.  
  
Kathy tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. Her face was pale, and she looked as if she'd been crying. "Um, he's been out of surgery for awhile, but they still won't let anyone see him. He has two broken ribs, and his left lung is punctured. His spleen ruptured; there's some kidney damage, and they're having trouble stopping the internal bleeding." Olivia dug her fingernails into the fabric of her coat as Kathy continued to speak. "He also aspirated quite a bit of water before Dani could pull him out, so that's causing some additional problems. And he has corneal abrasions from the sand. They really don't know. . . " Kathy's voice broke, and she paused for a beat. "Even if he pulls through, the doctors tell me that he'll be out for awhile, because of both the anesthetic and the injuries. So now we just wait."  
  
Olivia just stood there until it occurred to her that Kathy probably expected some sort of response. "Okay. Thanks." She didn't want to be standing there talking to Elliot's ex-wife. It felt so strange, to be shoved suddenly back into this life that she had walked out on two months ago.   
  
Kathy paused for another moment, undecided about what to do next. When she spoke, her tone was cool, guarded. "I was actually waiting for you. One of us should be here if. . . when he wakes up. I need to go and pick up the twins." She glanced at her watch. "I'll be back first thing in the morning. Don has my cell number." Kathy looked toward the exit and then back at Olivia, her gaze frosty. "Do you know that he has you listed as next of kin?"  
  
Olivia swallowed hard, opened her mouth, then closed it and shook her head.  
  
"Well, you shouldn't have any trouble getting in to see him." Kathy pulled her car keys out of her purse and left without further comment.  
  
Olivia glanced around the room. She saw Cragen rise from the couch and walk toward her. Next to the seat he had just vacated sat a woman, hugging a polartec sweatshirt around her shoulders. Probably Elliot's new partner. The one who had pulled him out of whatever body of water Kathy referred to. Olivia turned her eyes back to Cragen.  
  
 _Don't hug me, Don. Don't be too nice. Just tell me what's going on_. But of course Cragen knew her well enough to know that she wasn't up for a public breakdown at the moment. He smiled slightly and just barely touched her arm. "I'm glad you made it. If it had been a week earlier I wouldn't have even known where to call."  
  
"I know. I know. I was just tying up the paperwork. We finished the undercover last Friday." Olivia shifted on her feet as she tried to figure out what was going on here. "What was Elliot in the middle of?"  
  
Cragen sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "How much time do you have?"  
  
Olivia shot him a look, pulled off her coat, and sat down.  
  
"Right." Cragen glanced across the room and then, because he couldn't see any way around it, said awkwardly, "Olivia, this is Dani, Elliot's partner."  
  
"Hi," said Dani quietly. She looked tense and exhausted. "It's. . . nice to meet you."  
  
"Hi," Olivia responded automatically, her voice flat. _Elliot's partner_. She turned back to face Cragen, who had taken the seat next to her and was now sipping anemic-looking coffee from a Styrofoam cup. "So? You were going to tell me how Elliot wound up here?"  
  
"You want some coffee?" asked Cragen.  
  
"Not if it comes from wherever you got yours." She tried to smile.  
  
"Okay then." He shifted in his seat and seemed lost in thought for a moment. In the silence, Olivia could hear the relentless drone of CNN from the television perched at the intersection of the two walls opposite her. She kept her eyes on Cragen, willing herself to be patient. Finally, when she was about to jump up and turn off the television or possibly shoot it, he started talking. "Since about a week after you left, we've been in the middle of a joint task force with Narcotics, Immigration, DEA, and the FBI. I can get into the details with you later if you want, but it looks as if one of the most prominent law firms in the city has been in bed with a Mexican drug cartel, helping illegal immigrants get into the country on the condition that these people smuggle drugs in with them. A lot of the immigrants are kids, because they're less likely to be subject to a body cavity search if they get caught. The operation is huge, and we don't have anywhere near enough information to shut it down yet." He stopped, rubbing his hands over his eyes as if that might accomplish what the pathetic coffee couldn't.  
  
"And Elliot was working on this?" Olivia prompted.  
  
"He and Dani were working it from our office because of the kids. We even have some evidence of child prostitution, but like I said, all this is sketchy." Cragen stretched his legs out in front of him and sighed. "You might as well hear this part from me. We don't know whether this thing with Elliot is related, but three members of the task force have already been killed. No consistent MO, nothing connecting the crimes except that all three vics were working the case."  
  
"So what was Elliot doing last night? Who did this?" Olivia pressed her hands into her knees.  
  
"I'll let Dani fill you in on that part," said Cragen, standing up stiffly. "I'm gonna go and find some decent coffee for everyone, and hopefully something to eat."  
  
 _I'm not eating, Don. Not when he could die while I'm munching on a fucking sandwich_.  
  
"And before you say that you're not eating, Olivia, keep in mind that you won't be helping anyone when you're passed out from low blood sugar, stress, exhaustion, whatever. We could use you on this. You know that." He walked out before she could respond, leaving her staring at the door that swung back and forth several times before settling into its original position.  
  
Olivia turned back toward Dani. She noticed that the woman was shivering, and despite the inherent awkwardness of the situation, she remembered what Kathy had said. _He also aspirated quite a bit of water before Dani could pull him out_. She stood and walked toward the couch. "Why don't you put my coat around you? You look like you're freezing."  
  
Dani studied her for a second before accepting her offering. "Thanks. It's been a truly crappy twenty-four hours." She wrapped the coat around her shoulders. "Why do they keep hospitals at fifty degrees?"  
  
Olivia sank back into her chair. "So you were going to tell me what happened?" She tried not to sound irritated, but she could feel herself edging closer and closer to losing control. _Just breathe. You've got to hear what she has to say. You can't see him right now anyway_.  
  
Dani pulled Olivia's coat even more tightly around her and began to talk, her voice expressionless. "Elliot's been working with an informant -- I guess it's been over a month now. The guy will only talk to him, and so far, he honestly hasn't been much help, but Elliot was convinced that he'd have some useful information at some point." Dani shifted on the couch, pulling her legs underneath her. "Elliot called me on my cell last night sometime around 3:30. He said he was going to meet this guy at Rockaway Beach -- just wanted to let me know. I asked if he wanted me to follow him, but he said no, because the guy gets spooked so easily. So I hung up and went back to bed." Her eyes reddened, and she looked up at the television.  
  
"But you couldn't let him go by himself." Olivia sighed. _I've been there - more times than you have. You should have gone with him in the first place. I hate you. No. I want to, but he'd be dead right now if it weren't for you_.  
  
"Yeah. The whole thing just felt wrong. So after about ten minutes, I got in the car and drove down to the beach." Dani rubbed her upper arms vigorously. "When I got there, this asshole already had Elliot's head underwater. I told him to stop. He didn't. So I shot him." She looked at the floor, relaxing her hold on Olivia's coat. "I dragged Elliot out of the water and called for a bus."  
  
"What about the guy?"  
  
"He's dead. His name was Hector Martinez. He was a driver for Sunhill, Brennan  & McGann."  
  
Olivia massaged the back of her neck to fight the tension headache she could feel intensifying with each passing minute. "The law firm?"  
  
Dani nodded. "Yeah. And that's all anyone seems to know about him."  
  
The doors swung open, and both women looked up to see Cragen walk in with a large white bag and four steaming cups of coffee in a cardboard tray. Munch followed, another full tray of coffee in his left hand. He smiled when he saw Olivia. "It's great to see you, Liv, although obviously different circumstances would be preferable." He pulled out a cup of coffee and handed it to her.  
  
Olivia squeezed his arm while she took a large sip of her coffee. "Thanks. Think you two got enough coffee?"   
  
Munch gave Dani a cup and set the tray on the table. "No such thing." He settled on the opposite end of the couch where Dani sat, holding her coffee cup with both hands. "Fin's back at the station, making phone calls and trying to dig up whatever he can on this Martinez. We're supposed to be working with DEA, but when I left I got the impression they were stonewalling him. These turf wars really piss me off." He reached out to take the sandwich that Cragen was holding toward him.  
  
Cragen pulled another sandwich from the bag and extended it toward Olivia. "Eat it and don't argue."  
  
Olivia took the sandwich reluctantly. "Can we go with the two bites rule here?" she asked. "There's no way I'm gonna get any more than that. . . " She was interrupted by the swish of the waiting room doors.  
  
An attractive middle-aged woman entered the room, wearing scrubs and holding a chart in her right hand. She was still looking at the chart as she said, "Is there an Olivia Benson here?"  
  
Olivia set her coffee and uneaten sandwich on the table, and stood up so quickly that she had to grab the edge of her chair to steady herself. "I'm Olivia Benson. Detective Stabler's partner." _No, you're not. Where did that come from_? "Has there been some change?" The momentary dizziness had worn off, but Olivia didn't let go of the chair. _Just say he's okay. Please_.  
  
The woman took a few strides toward Olivia. "I'm Doctor Jansen. I don't want to get your hopes up, but at the moment, your partner appears to be stabilizing. The internal bleeding is under control. He's breathing on his own and his pressure is steady."  
  
Olivia could feel her pulse behind her eyes as the doctor continued. "I'm cautiously optimistic. Don't get me wrong - he's in for some serious rehab once he makes it through the critical stage, and he has so many injuries that a change in his condition is possible at any time over the next few days." She studied the chart for a few seconds and then said to Olivia, "Would you like to see him?"  
  
"Yes. Please." _Get a grip, Olivia. You've held it together for this long. Don't lose it now. Not here_. She crossed her arms over her chest and pressed her fingers into the fabric of her blouse. "Cap, will you be here if Kathy. . ."  
  
"Go," said Cragen. Olivia glanced at Dani, then followed the doctor.  
  
________________  
  
In spite of the incessant beeping and humming of the numerous machines surrounding Elliot's hospital bed, the room was quieter than the ICU waiting area. Olivia followed Dr. Jansen tentatively, still clutching her arms to her chest, careful not to move anything out of its place. Careful not to look at Elliot. Not yet. A nurse was hanging a new IV bag on the pole that stood on the other side of Elliot's bed. Dr. Jansen went over to check the oxygen setting, then said to the nurse, "Megan, this is Olivia Benson, Detective Stabler's partner. She's going to sit with him for awhile." The doctor turned toward Olivia and said quietly, "Technically, we're supposed to limit visits to fifteen minutes, but since you're listed as his next of kin, it's all right if you want to stay longer. Do you have any questions right now?"  
  
Olivia cleared her throat softly. "No, thank you." Her eyes began to sting, but as the doctor turned to leave, Olivia forced herself to speak. "Were you with him, in the operating room?"  
  
"Yes. I was. I'm on the night shift this week. It was bad at first, but as I said, he seems to be handling the injuries better than I expected." She gave Olivia a warm smile, then said, "I've still got to check on a couple more patients."  
  
Olivia's eyes filled. "Thank you. I don't know. . . " She stopped, fighting for control. She was so tired. The phone call. The plane. Kathy. Cragen. Dani. She just wanted to be alone for five goddamn minutes so she could stop pretending that all of this was fine. Part of the routine. As if every day her partner of eight years almost died, when she hadn't even talked to him in two months and their last conversation had been an exercise in speaking without ever actually saying anything.  
  
Dr. Jansen just nodded. "No problem." The door closed silently behind her.  
  
Megan finished writing a note on the chart and gestured to the only chair in the room. "Sit down. There's a red call button right above the bed and another one on the remote there on the table. Buzz if you need anything. I'm on duty until 7 a.m. Gotta love the night shift."  
  
"Okay, thanks." Olivia waited until the door closed again before she finally turned to look at Elliot. A sheet covered the lower half of his body, and the upper half was a patchwork of bandages. His face, though unbandaged, was covered with angry red abrasions that she assumed were the result of being shoved into the sand. There were probably more under the oxygen mask. Olivia's gaze settled on his chest, and she watched, mesmerized, as it rose and fell in a steady rhythm. Suddenly the chair seemed like an excellent idea, and she sank down, finally releasing the death grip she'd had on her own arms. Elliot's left hand lay still on the white sheet, and Olivia carefully lifted it into both of hers. His hand was surprisingly warm, and something about that warmth undid her. As soon as she touched him, the tightness in her chest intensified so quickly that she thought she might be sick. Taking a deep breath to combat the nausea, she pressed her forehead against the cool sheet and choked on the sobs she'd been fighting for hours. _You're still here, El. Just. Stay. Here. Please_.  
  
As she lay there, trying to regain control of her breathing, she thought back to her last conversation with Elliot. She'd stayed late at the precinct, finishing up paperwork so that she could leave for Phoenix with at least one aspect of her life free from loose ends. She figured that since it was after nine, Elliot was already gone, although it was strange for him to leave without saying good-bye. Then again, "normal" for them didn't exist anymore, so evaluating "strange" was hard. She was so focused on her work that she didn't know he was there until he spoke.  
  
"Cap says you're taking an indefinite undercover assignment with the FBI - some Homeland Security thing." He hung his jacket on the back of his chair and sat down across from her.   
  
_Shit. Why the hell had Cragen told him? Well, suck it up Liv, because you've got no way out of this conversation now_. "Um, yeah. I thought it might help . . . " _Help what? Help you get over the fact that you've made the brilliant move of completely falling for your pissed off, psychologically battered, totally emotionally unavailable partner_? ". . . help for us to take a short break." _God. You sound like an idiot_.   
  
"Right. Since our last break was so helpful."  
  
She looked directly at him then; she wasn't going to let him know he was getting to her. If she hadn't been prepared for it, she would have flinched at the unfiltered anger in his eyes. He held her gaze long past the point of discomfort, then abruptly looked away and opened a file.  
  
Elliot was silent for so long that she thought maybe he considered the conversation over. But just as she picked up her pen again, he said, so quietly that it would have been hard for her to understand him if she weren't so accustomed to the rhythm of his voice, "Were you going to tell me this time?"  
  
"Not before I left. I thought I'd call when I got to Phoenix." The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. She hadn't intended to be quite that honest.  
  
Her response put Elliot in full retreat. His eyes were no longer angry, just guarded. When he spoke again, he might have been discussing stock tips or the weather. "Well, good luck with the assignment. Be careful." He stood, walked over to pour himself some coffee, then returned to his desk and picked up his pen.  
  
 _Screw you, Elliot. Do I look like I'm enjoying myself here? And you don't even pour me coffee now_? "So that's it? Be careful?"  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry." His sarcasm echoed through the quiet squad room. "Is this the part where I'm supposed to talk you out of going, tell you I need you here, whatever?" He abandoned the pretence of neutrality, and the volume of his voice escalated with each word. "You obviously missed some of what I said outside that hospital room. I can't DO this anymore, Olivia. Go. Do the undercover. Whatever bullshit is going on between us will still be here when you get back." He slammed one of his desk drawers shut and slumped back into his chair. The silence expanded, the ticking of the wall clock annoyingly loud.  
  
"Elliot." Her voice was soft now. Not angry or even irritated. Just sad.  
  
"What?"  
  
"When I get back, will you actually talk to me, just to be novel?" The edges of her mouth turned up slightly, and the tiniest spark of amusement flashed in her eyes.  
  
He felt the corners of his own lips twitch in response, and in that moment he couldn't think of a time when he had loved or hated her more. _Fuck it. Who are you kidding, Elliot? You know you're going to cave_. He gave in and grinned at her, his eyes warm. "Okay, Liv. When you get back, we'll talk." His grin widened. "If you think you can handle it."  
  
"Oh I can handle it. And don't think I'm going to forget or something and let you off the hook." Her tone was light, but he could hear the gravity behind her words; she wasn't joking this time. She scanned his face for a few seconds before returning to her paperwork.  
  
They worked in silence for almost half an hour. It might not have been the easy, comfortable silence that came so naturally in the first few years of their partnership, but it also wasn't the tense, hostile silence that had suffocated them since his separation. Olivia came to the bottom of a form and realized that amazingly enough, she was actually finished. She filed the last of her paperwork, then walked back to stand in front of her desk. Elliot was still hunched over a file, his coffee cup clutched in his left hand. "Aren't you gonna go home?" she asked quietly. "It's almost eleven."  
  
He leaned back in his chair, linking his fingers behind his head to stretch. "No, I've got a couple more things I should finish. And court at eight. I'll just crash in the crib for a few hours."  
  
"Okay. Well, I'm gonna head out then." She didn't want to look at him. This whole goodbye scene hadn't been part of her exit strategy.  
  
Elliot cleared his throat. "Hey Liv?" He caught her eyes and held them, his blue eyes shinier than usual.  
  
"Yeah?" _Just let me get out of here Elliot, before I start crying or babbling like an idiot_.  
  
"I meant what I said. Be careful. Watch your back. Please."  
  
 _Shit. Do you have to be irresistible right now? This would be so much easier if you'd just keep acting like a first-class prick_. She smiled, breathing deeply to make sure that her voice didn't catch when she answered him. "You still don't trust anybody else to back me up, do you?"  
  
He looked at her evenly. "Not a chance." When the intensity of his expression made her uncomfortable, she crossed her arms, but didn't look away. Finally Elliot glanced at the clock and said, "Get some sleep. I'll see you when you get back."  
  
"Yeah. See ya." _You can do this, Olivia. Just turn around and walk out the door_. She pulled her coat off the back of her chair and listened to her own heels tapping as she strode toward the exit. _Don't turn around. Don't even think about it. Five more step_ s. The doors closed behind her and she was alone.  
  
When Olivia snapped back into the present, her cheeks were still damp, but she could breathe now, and while the emotional explosion had exhausted her, she felt calmer than she had since she'd answered Cragen's phone call. Taking her right hand off of Elliot's, she made a futile attempt to rub the tears and congealing makeup off her cheeks. Her fingers were covered with clumps of mascara, and she wondered absently how awful she'd look before Elliot finally regained consciousness and she could bring herself to go home. She raised her eyes to study his face. _El, if you die, I swear to God I'll kill you again_.  
  
"Hey Elliot?" She spoke out loud this time. "You know, if you wanted to dodge our conversation that bad, you could have just called me. All this is a little extreme." She paused, watching the automatic blood pressure monitor tighten around his arm and slowly relax its grip. The green digital readout flashed several times before settling at 90/63. He was still okay. "I don't think they want me to stay here for too long, so I'm gonna go back to the waiting room for awhile. But I'm here. And I'm not leaving." _Not this time_.  
  
Olivia rubbed her thumb in circles over the back of Elliot's hand for a minute before she carefully placed it back on the sheet. She pulled a tissue from the box on the table beside his bed and made one more attempt to clean off her face before she stood. After watching him take a few more slow, quiet breaths, she finally turned and walked back into the glaring fluorescent light of the hallway.  
  
________________  
  
When she pushed open the doors of the ICU waiting room, Olivia saw Fin, head back on the couch, legs stretched in front of him, half asleep. He sat up instantly, rubbing his hands over his face to wake himself up. "Hey, Liv. You okay?"  
  
"I don't know," she said honestly, running her hands through her hair. "Dr. Jansen says it looks like he's going to make it."  
  
"I heard. That's great."  
  
She scanned the room. "Did Dani go home?"  
  
"Awhile ago." Fin's expression shifted almost imperceptibly, but Olivia chose to leave it alone.  
  
"What about Cragen?"  
  
Fin snorted. "Nah. He's living in some fantasy world where he's going to find the magic food you're willing to eat right now. I told him to save his energy and have a nap instead, but I think he feels more useful runnin' around." Fin reached for the cold cup of coffee on the table in front of him. After a few swallows he said, "This whole thing sucks, so I may as well lay the latest piece of good news on you."  
  
Olivia tensed. "What?"  
  
"After gettin' some serious runaround from both DEA and Narcotics, I finally discovered that this Martinez guy who almost killed Elliot wasn't exactly a low-level driver for Sunhill, Brennan  & McGann."  
  
"Who was he then?"  
  
"Dickhead was an assassin for the Delgado cartel. Of course, DEA's had this information for something like two days, but it just now made its way to us. If anything happens to Elliot, shit's gonna hit the fan."  
  
Olivia sank into a chair and put her head in her hands. "Did they give you anything else about the guy?"  
  
Fin shrugged. "He had at least fifteen confirmed hits chalked up to him before he ever set foot in the U.S. Once he gets here, the information is more sketchy. But it's a safe bet that he did the other task force members."  
  
"Lovely. And if DEA had told you, Elliot never would have gone to meet the guy. At least not alone." Again, the guilt washed over her in unbearable waves. _You should have been with him_.  
  
Fin shook his head. "I know what you're thinkin', Olivia, and just don't go there. He's gonna make it, and when he gets outta here he can go kick some DEA ass all by himself." Olivia stared at her knees and didn't respond. Fin took another sip of coffee and said, "In any case, you're gonna fall over if you don't sleep for at least an hour or something. Take the couch. I'll stay awake in case anything changes." He stood up and reseated himself in the chair beside hers, gently touching her hand. "Come on, Liv. You're not helping him if you wind up havin' to share a room."  
  
She wanted to argue, but her eyes were gritty and she was beginning to shake from excessive caffeine, lack of food, and emotional exhaustion. She pushed herself out of the chair and lay down on the couch, pulling her coat across her body. Turning her head toward Fin, she said, "You'd better wake me up if he so much as moves his little finger."  
  
Fin laughed. "You think I got the balls not to? Go to sleep."  
  
Olivia closed her eyes and let the never-ending drone of CNN pull her under.  
  
________________  
  
"Olivia." A hand gently shook her shoulder. She jerked upright, thirsty and disoriented. Cragen stood in front of the couch, looking almost as bad as she felt. A hit of adrenaline jolted up her spine. "What happened? Is he okay?"  
  
"Yes. Calm down. He's fine." Cragen sat down next to her. "That's why I came to get you. Dr. Jansen was just in here. He's awake."


	2. Chapter 2

"Can I see him? What did Dr. Jansen say? What time is it?" Olivia rubbed her eyes irritably, trying to shake off the feeling that she'd been drugged.  
  
"Slow down." Cragen sighed. "You can see him in a few minutes. Dr. Jansen's in with him now. They have to give him the once-over now that he's conscious, but she'll be out to talk to us when they're done." He looked at her, taking in the pallor and the purple circles under her eyes. "Do you want anything? You look like hell."  
  
"Thanks." Olivia grinned halfheartedly. "I could use a really big glass of water."  
  
"Good," said Cragen, grateful for something to do. "I'll be right back."  
  
Unable to sit still, Olivia walked slowly from one side of the room to the other, then retraced her path. Her heels made an odd thudding sound on the carpet, and she concentrated on the rhythmic noise to keep from going insane with waiting. When the doors opened she tensed up instinctively, but it was only Cragen, holding a large plastic cup, which he handed to her.  
  
"It's not Evian, but it has lots of ice."  
  
"Like I care. Thank you." She drained half the cup before pausing to look at Cragen. His skin was almost grey with fatigue. "And you think I look like hell? When was the last time you slept?" She eyed him skeptically and gulped down the rest of her water.  
  
"I slept last August," replied Cragen with a wry smile. "Worry about something else. I'm just waiting to hear some more definite news. I'll get some sleep as soon as Dr. Jansen comes back."  
  
As if on cue, the waiting room doors opened again, and Dr. Jansen walked in. She smiled tiredly and said to Olivia, "You can see your partner now, Detective Benson. He's alert and oriented, but don't expect too much, given that he's still coming off the anesthetic. As it continues to wear off, you should be prepared for the fact that he's going to be in a lot of pain because of the damage to his kidney, ribs, and lung. We won't start the painkillers until the anesthetic is out of his system, so he's in for a tough couple of hours. I've warned him about all of this, but since he's still a little groggy, I'm not sure how much of it sunk in. He remembers events up to the point where he lost consciousness, which confirms that there is no injury to his brain." She lifted a few papers on Elliot's chart to see if she had missed anything, then looked up at Olivia. "Do you have any questions?"  
  
"Are you saying he's out of the woods?" Olivia reflexively held her breath while she waited for the doctor to speak again.  
  
Dr. Jansen paused, carefully considering her choice of words. "I've learned that guarantees are a risky enterprise in my profession, Miss Benson, and your partner is badly hurt. But as the situation stands, I do expect that he's going to make it."  
  
Olivia stood absolutely still, relief flooding her body with a surge of warmth. Her eyes filled, and she wiped at them impatiently, dampening her fingers. She cleared her throat and asked, "How long can I stay with him?"  
  
"Feel free to stay as long as you want. He'll need some distraction once the pain starts to kick in, although you should discourage him from talking too much."  
  
"Thank you," said Olivia softly. "For everything."  
  
Dr. Jansen nodded. "I'll be here until 7 a.m., when Dr. Brandeis takes over."  
  
Olivia turned toward Cragen, who held out his hand for her empty cup. He said quickly, "I'm gonna go and take a very short nap, but Munch will be here any minute."  
  
Olivia smiled, her eyes swimming again. She hadn't felt this out of control since she had stood in that warehouse with her gun pointed at Victor Gitano, and her inability to stabilize her emotions aggravated her more by the second. But this time she didn't bother to clear her throat, and her voice was hoarse as she said, "Thanks for staying with me, Don."  
  
He shot her his patented Cragen look and replied, "I wouldn't have been anywhere else. Pay me back by eating something within the next millennium."  
  
"I will."  
  
"I'll pretend I believe you." He nodded to Dr. Jansen and held the waiting room door open for the two women, following them into the white-tiled hallway.  
  
________________  
  
Nervous and unsettled, the adrenaline high rapidly wearing off, Olivia slowly opened the door to Elliot's room. _Take a deep breath. It's just Elliot_.  
  
He turned his head the instant he heard the click of the door handle. "Liv?" His voice was soft and raspy.  
  
"Yeah. It's me." She walked toward the bed and sat down in the chair beside it, instinctively reaching for his hand.  
  
"I can't see you very well." His eyes moved back and forth over her face, attempting to focus.  
  
"Having sand ground into your eyes will do that. You're better off anyway. I look like shit."  
  
"That I doubt." His hand tightened around hers. "I take it you've been here awhile?"   
  
She felt the tears threatening again. _Stop crying, goddamnit. He doesn't need your emotional breakdown right now_. "You could say that." She studied his face, tracking from his damaged blue eyes to the livid red patches on his cheeks, partially obscured by several days worth of stubble. "How do you feel?"  
  
Elliot chuckled, then gasped in pain. "Wow." He took several breaths. "Pretty much like roadkill."  
  
"I figured. They'll let you have some pain meds as soon as the anesthetic wears off. My job is to distract you until then."  
  
"So what are you gonna do to distract me?" Even though his voice was barely audible, she could hear the teasing in his tone.  
  
"You're funny. I think the drugs are affecting your brain." _We don't know where the boundaries are anymore, do we El? I barely remember what it felt like to know_.  
  
"You sound really tired." Elliot's voice was suddenly serious. "It was bad while I was out, wasn't it?"  
  
 _Bad? Bad doesn't exactly cover it. I spent hours trying not to hyperventilate or puke_. Olivia forced herself to keep her voice level. "When Cragen called me in Phoenix, the collective opinion seemed to be that you were circling the drain. So yeah, the plane ride and the first couple hours here were bad."  
  
"But you weren't lucky enough to get rid of me that easily."  
  
"Don't, Elliot. Just. Don't." She bit into her lip and tasted blood. "You can't make this funny."  
  
"Okay, okay. This is just. . . what did you call it? Complicated?" His voice was rough, but still laced with dark humor. "I haven't even talked to you for two months and all of the sudden we're doing this hospital deathbed scene." He shifted uncomfortably in bed, and she could tell from his expression that the pain was intensifying by the minute.  
  
"I _know_ it's. . . weird. But I can't be anywhere else right now." She sighed in frustration. "You know that."  
  
He smiled gently. "I do. I don't want you anywhere else. I just want. . . " His voice cracked slightly and he took several short breaths.  
  
Olivia smoothed her hand over the back of his. "You're exhausted, and it hurts more every second, whether you'll admit it or not. Let's drop this. I'm supposed to be keeping you from talking too much anyway." They both fell silent. Olivia looked down at their intertwined hands, smiling in spite of herself. She listened to the soothing hum of the ventilation system and wondered why, with all of the complications, their mutual emotional exhaustion, the fact that they'd somehow become almost incapable of talking to each other, that it always circled back to this. The two of them, alone in silence, knowing without saying a word that regardless of what confusing, indefinable mess they had left, they would never be willing entirely to let it go.  
  
"Okay, I admit it," Elliot whispered in a strained voice.  
  
"Admit what?" she asked, since she'd lost the conversational thread.  
  
"This hurts like a son of a bitch." He was breathing more and more rapidly, and Olivia watched an involuntary tear trace down his cheek. Suddenly all the awkwardness of the situation become irrelevant. She just needed to get him through the next few hours.  
  
"Elliot."  
  
"Yeah?" He was almost panting now.  
  
"You've got to stop breathing like that. If you hyperventilate they'll come in here and kick me out."  
  
He fought down a surge of panic at her words. _NO. I just got you back. You're not leaving again_. "Okay." He closed his eyes and focused all his concentration on taking slow, deep breaths. The pain washed over him in excruciating waves. His fingers tightened on Olivia's, and while she pressed her lips together after a moment, she said nothing. Several minutes passed before Elliot said, "Talk to me about something."  
  
Before she could settle on a subject that might actually distract him, the door opened and Elliot's nurse walked in, carrying a huge Styrofoam cup with a straw sticking out of its plastic top. She handed it to Olivia and said uncertainly, "This is from a Detective Munch? It's a chocolate shake. He said I'm supposed to tell you that you promised."  
  
Olivia smiled, resigned. "Thanks Megan. If you see Detective Munch before I do, tell him I appreciate it."  
  
"Sure." She pulled on a pair of gloves and moved towards Elliot's bed. "As long as I'm here I'm going to check your dressings, Mr. Stabler." She glanced at Olivia. "You can wait outside - I'll only be a minute." Olivia quickly withdrew her hand from Elliot's and stood up.  
  
"She can stay," Elliot ground out.  
  
"It's okay, Elliot. I'll be right back." Sitting her milkshake on the table, she turned and moved toward the door.  
  
"Stay. Please." His voice was thick and quiet, and the request so unlike him that Olivia stopped abruptly.  
  
"Okay. I'll just stand over here." She looked at the floor while Megan pulled the sheet partially off of Elliot's body and moved her hands over the bandages. Olivia winced when she heard Elliot's sharp intake of breath, but Megan was already pulling the sheet back up.  
  
"Your sutures look good. I know you're in a lot of pain, so I won't tick you off more by asking how you're feeling. Give it another hour and you can have your first shot." Elliot nodded slightly, his jaw set. Megan scribbled a quick note on the chart and left.  
  
After staring at the door for a second, Olivia sat back down in the chair beside Elliot's bed, but he wouldn't turn his face to her, and she didn't try to take his hand. "What's going on?" she asked, wishing he would look at her.  
  
 _What do you want me to say, Liv? I've suddenly been seized by the irrational idea that if I let you walk out that door, you won't come back this time?_ He opted for ignoring her question. "Is everybody trying to feed you?" His eyes were fixed on the pulse and blood pressure monitor, although she doubted that he could really see it.  
  
She let the change of subject slide. "Yeah. Cragen's bordering on obsessed."  
  
"Drink it. I can live vicariously through you, since something tells me I'm not going to be getting anything that tastes remotely that good for awhile." His face tightened again, and he balled part of the sheet into his hand.  
  
She watched his fingers clench the white fabric for a few seconds before she gently loosened them and pulled his hand back into hers. _Quick. Light conversation. Choose a topic that's not a minefield. There's got to be at least one_. She picked up her milkshake and took several long swallows before she said, "So Phoenix sucked."  
  
He finally shifted his head back toward her, and tried to smile. "Why?"  
  
"Well, once we got to the undercover part it was okay -- I'll fill you in on that later -- but that was only two weeks and until then it was basically an endless stakeout. And my "partner" was this sixty year old FBI agent on the verge of retirement. He kept talking about his dogs." _He didn't know how I take my coffee. He wouldn't shut up. Ever. He smelled like cigars even when he wasn't smoking. He wouldn't let me choose the radio station. He wasn't you_.  
  
"Sounds fun."  
  
"Anything but." She sipped at the milkshake, suddenly aware of exactly how hungry she was. "You need to get better so I can hear your version of what happened, you know?"  
  
"Shit that hurts!" Elliot bit into his lower lip and moved again, trying unsuccessfully to find a less painful position. After a long exhale, he said, his voice low and angry, "Not much to tell. I'd already met with this asshole four times. He kept telling me that he knew something was going on at Sunhill, Brennan  & McGann. Didn't want to get busted, was willing to talk to me if he came across any information." He paused, clenching his teeth for a moment before he continued. "So he called me and I drove down to the beach. It was dark. I should have been more careful. I walked up to the guy and before we even finished with the ‘Hi, how ya doing?' thing he threw a handful of sand in my face. I went for my gun, but I couldn't see enough to take a shot. He kicked me in the abs with his steel-toed boots, beat the crap out of me for awhile, then dragged me into the water and shoved my head under. I tried to get the fucker off me -- think I even got in a kick -- but my body stopped cooperating." He was breathing quickly again, sweat beading on his upper lip. "I think I'm gonna be sick." His grip on her hand intensified.  
  
She dropped her milkshake on the table and leaned forward, pressing her cold hand against his forehead. "No, you're not. Listen to me. Stop talking. Breathe. It's not that much longer. You can handle this." She didn't even know what she was saying; she just wanted him to concentrate on anything but the pain. "Kathy was here earlier. She'll be back in the morning -- I guess she had to pick up the twins. I bet they'll let the kids come tomorrow."  
  
Elliot didn't reply, but after half a minute he relaxed his hold on her hand, and some of the color gradually seeped back into his face. The silence stretched out between them again. She finished her milkshake and tossed the empty cup into the trash.  
  
At least ten or fifteen minutes passed before Elliot spoke again. "No one's told me how it is that I _did_ wind up here instead of six feet under. I assume that Dani followed me, even though I told her not to. She doesn't listen to me, either. The sum total of what you two seem to have in common."  
  
Olivia noticed the subtle change in his voice when he said Dani's name. It left her feeling vaguely uncomfortable, but she filed it away to deal with later. "Yeah, she got a strange vibe, so she tailed you and killed the guy with a single shot to the back."  
  
"He wasn't just a driver, was he?" Elliot's fingers were compressing hers to the point of pain.  
  
"No. But I'm not going into that with you now," she replied firmly.  
  
"You know, I was thinking. . . " Elliot was interrupted by Megan, who walked in holding a syringe.  
  
"Ready for that Demerol now?" she asked, grinning. She inserted the needle into Elliot's IV line and emptied the syringe's contents.  
  
"That would be the understatement."  
  
"That's what I thought. This will probably knock you out for awhile, but don't worry about it. We'll scale back the dosage before long. It's likely that you'll only need the heavy ammo for a couple of days, max."  
  
"At the moment knocked out works for me."  
  
Megan checked Elliot's IV line, then said, more to Olivia than Elliot, "Be sure to buzz if there's a problem. My replacement's name is Kevin."  
  
The door clicked shut behind her, and Olivia refocused her attention on Elliot's face. She could already see the tension in his jaw easing, and hear his breathing slowing down.  
  
His eyes began to drift shut, but he fought against the pull of the drug, turning his face and again trying to see her through the fog of his damaged eyes. "You gonna go home now?"  
  
She didn't want to go home, but she knew that without sleep, food, and a shower, she'd be no help to anyone. Elliot's eyes had slipped shut again, and she felt her own body relax in response as she watched him become more comfortable. "Yeah, I'm just gonna grab a nap and a shower, and stop by the precinct. I'll probably be back before you even manage to snap out of your drug-induced snooze." When he didn't respond, she moved to let go of his hand, but his grip tightened and she couldn't pull away.  
  
"Liv?" His voice was thick, almost slurred.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Thanks." Before she could respond, his hold on her fingers loosened, and she knew he was asleep.  
  
________________  
  
Olivia pushed through the doors of the 1-6 just after noon on Thursday. After four hours of sleep, a shower, a real breakfast, and the 20 ounce cup of coffee she'd inhaled in the cab on the way from her apartment, she felt, if not exactly better, at least more in control. When she walked into the squad room, her eyes immediately gravitated to her former desk, where Dani now sat, throwing files and papers into several boxes on the floor next to her chair. _Get used to it. She's not going anywhere_. Olivia hoped that her face looked at least neutral as she stepped forward and said, "You don't need to be in such a hurry. You've been filling in for me for months, and I didn't expect to just walk back in here and kick you out. Take your time."  
  
Dani looked up, her expression unreadable. "Thanks. Captain said you'd be here in the early afternoon, so I was trying to get everything out of your way. I'm on desk duty anyway until IAW ties up their investigation, so it doesn't matter which desk I'm working from." She took two coffee mugs and set them carefully in the corner of the box. "How's Elliot?"  
  
"Completely drugged when I left at around 5:30. I called the hospital about an hour ago and they say he's still out. But he's allowed to have visitors now."  
  
Dani nodded, grabbing a handful of pens. "I'm gonna go over later. George should be here any minute for a briefing. I guess he pulled some strings to get access to restricted DEA files on Martinez." She lifted a box and moved toward an empty desk near the window.  
  
As Olivia glanced around, wondering what to do next, she heard Cragen's voice. "Olivia? Can I see you for a minute?" She had to smile at the vision of Cragen framed in the doorway of his office. She could hear Elliot's voice telling her that SVU was in her blood, and as she stood, soaking in the atmosphere of the bullpen, she knew he was right. Still smiling to herself, she walked into Cragen's office.  
  
"Shut the door."  
  
She shut it, then looked at him warily. "What'd I do?"  
  
Cragen gave her a half-smile and replied, "Nothing yet. Give it time."  
  
"Okay. What's up?"  
  
"I need you to tell me what your plan is, Olivia. Whatever's going on between you and Elliot is none of my business, until it starts to affect your ability to do your job. You've opted out of here twice since the Gitano case, and I've given you a lot of rope, but our resources are maxed out with this Sunhill, Brennan  & McGann thing, particularly with Elliot down for the count." He leaned back on his desk. "If you want to work this case, I need you to tell me that you're in it for the long haul, even if Elliot comes back in here and treats you like crap every moment of every day because desk duty pisses him off or just because he's in a bad mood. I need to know that you're staying no matter what."  
  
Olivia looked at him evenly. "I'm staying. No matter what."  
  
"Good." Cragen's face softened a fraction. "We'll need to get you up to speed then. I think. . ." He was cut off by an insistent knock on the door. "What?"  
  
The door opened and Fin stuck his head in. "Hey Liv. It's good to have you back here." He turned to Cragen. "Sorry to interrupt, but George is here, and he's got court at 2."  
  
"We're done anyway, aren't we?" asked Cragen. Olivia nodded and followed Fin back into the bullpen.  
  
She walked over to greet George. "I'm glad to see you back," he said quietly. "How's Elliot?"  
  
"He's doing really well, considering. I'm going back over there later this afternoon."  
  
George moved a step closer to her and lowered his voice another notch. "If you need to talk, drop by anytime."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"Okay, people." Cragen's voice had its usual effect of immediately stopping all bullpen conversation. "George has some information about the asshole who attacked Elliot, so let's listen up." Olivia sat on the edge of Elliot's desk and waited for George to speak.  
  
"None of what I'm about to say will even begin to connect the dots here, but it might answer at least a few questions, such as why this man, who had two loaded weapons on him when he went to meet Elliot at the beach, didn't just shoot him instead of severely beating and trying to drown him." George pulled several pictures out of an envelope and tacked them to the board. "These are just a few photos I got from DEA files on the people that Hector Martinez assassinated in Mexico. In typical cases, the most successful assassins, while they obviously have no problem with killing, are in it for the money. Their goal is to do the job with the least amount of effort or risk, and to minimize the possibility of getting caught. Long-range rifles are often their weapon of choice, because there is minimal contact with the victim."  
  
George paused, taking a sip of water. "In my opinion, Mr. Martinez, on the other hand, was a sadist, who killed for pleasure and considered the money a bonus. I've seen the crime scene photos from every assassination credited to Mr. Martinez in Mexico, and of the three task force members we believe he killed. These photos suggest someone who likes to be as close as possible to his victims while they're dying, and to inflict pain before killing them if he has time. There's no consistent MO, which suggests that he likes to experiment with different methods of killing. This keeps a sadist from getting bored. Of course, none of this explains why an assassin for a Mexican drug cartel is pretending to be a driver for the junior partner of Sunhill, Brennan & McGann."  
  
"If he had two guns on him, why didn't he draw on me when I called out to him on the beach?" Dani asked.  
  
"Elliot said he tried to fight the guy," Olivia replied softly. "Maybe he was still struggling enough that Martinez was afraid to let go."  
  
"We could speculate all day," said Cragen. "And we can't ask the dead guy. So let's move on. Dani, since you're riding a desk anyway, bring Olivia up to speed on the whole Sunhill, Brennan & McGann investigation. Munch. Fin. I'm losing my ability to "synergize" with DEA now that we've almost lost one of our people due to their inability to communicate. Start tailing McGann yourselves. I want to know every move he makes. He's bound to get nervous when he figures out that his driver's been capped by one of NYC's finest." Cragen walked back toward his office, still talking. "I'm going to phone my friendly FBI counterpart and tell her that as far as I'm concerned, the covert part of this operation is over. We're getting nowhere with surveillance and all this cloak and dagger crap. We need to go in the front door."


	3. Chapter 3

Captain Cragen sat at his desk, surrounded by files, momentarily paralyzed by the sheer volume of information in front of him. As he tried to decide which stack to tackle first, the phone rang, and for once he was almost grateful for the interruption. "Cragen."  
  
"It's Fin."  
  
"What's up?"  
  
"We're at JFK. We tailed McGann here from his office. He's about an hour away from jumpin' on a plane to Mexico City. Do you want us to grab him? He gets on that plane, he may not be comin' back."  
  
Cragen sighed. "Is the ticket one-way or round trip?"  
  
"Round trip. He's only got carry-on luggage, and the post office says he stopped his mail for five days. Still, he could be coverin' his ass."  
  
Cragen thought for a few seconds. "No, let him go. SAC Adamson over at the FBI somehow talked me into giving the undercover a chance for another week or so, although I'll start regretting that decision any minute now. My hunch is that this unscheduled trip has something to do with Dani killing Martinez. McGann's already been to Mexico twice since we started surveilling him, and both times he's come back in a few days or a week. If we tip our hand now, we may lose the information trail between here and Mexico City. Let DEA monitor him down there. Just be sure that you're waiting for him at the airport when he gets back."  
  
"No problem," answered Fin. "We're on our way back."  
  
________________  
  
By the time Olivia approached the door to Elliot's hospital room, it was almost 8 p.m. She'd meant to be there several hours earlier, but after Dani's briefing, she'd gotten caught up in the details of the case, and called Elliot to tell him she'd be there before visiting hours were over. While she wasn't ready to analyze all the reasons for her instinctive discomfort around Dani, she also wanted to make sure that Dani was gone before she arrived at the hospital. As she pushed open the door, her mind was on a million different things - if Cragen would really follow through on his threat to blow open the investigation and confront the law firm head on, what he was going to assign her to do now that she was technically without a partner, whether Kathy had brought the kids to see Elliot today, how long Elliot would have to stay in the hospital. . . . She crashed back into the present when she pushed through the door and saw Dani sitting by Elliot's bed. It occurred to her too late that she should have knocked.  
  
Elliot and Dani looked toward her simultaneously, and suddenly Olivia knew exactly why she'd been uncomfortable from the moment she met Elliot's new partner. Incongruous as the reaction was, she had to fight not to burst out laughing. She didn't know Dani well enough to read anything into her expression aside from weariness and vague unease. But because she had caught him so off-guard, Elliot's face was a hilarious mixture of conflicting emotions - panic, guilt, anger, and something else that Olivia couldn't quite place. She struggled to keep her own expression neutral and her tone cheerful as she said, "Sorry. I should have knocked. I'll be out in the waiting area."  
  
"No, no. Stay. I was just leaving." Dani stood up and slid her arms into her coat. She gave Elliot a subdued smile. "Feel better. And don't torment your nurses. I'll stop by again in a couple of days." She took several steps toward the door, then said to Olivia, "I'll see you at the precinct. I'm still on ass duty for at least another two days."  
  
"Yeah, I'll see you tomorrow," Olivia replied automatically, surprised and a little impressed that her voice sounded so normal. She watched the door long after it closed behind Dani, mesmerized by the little white criss-cross pattern that covered the rectangular window. Finally she turned and faced Elliot. "You slept with her." It was a statement, not a question.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Save it." She dropped into the chair, tossing her purse on the table. "You knew I slept with Cassidy after taking one look at our "morning after" faces. And you and I had been partner's what, a year? So after eight years you seriously thought I wasn't gonna figure this out? I'm disappointed that it took me this long, given all the clues everyone at the precinct was throwing my way."  
  
"They all know?" Elliot rubbed his hand over his forehead.  
  
"Well, nobody came up to me and said, ‘Hey, Liv, you know Elliot's screwing, Dani, right?' But yes, I'm pretty sure they know." Olivia watched the rhythmic drip of the fluid into Elliot's IV line. _Why are you letting this get to you so much? You're the one who left_.  
  
They sat in silence for several minutes, the awkwardness increasing exponentially with each passing second. Finally Elliot muttered, "I'm not screwing her. We slept together twice. It was. . . ." He broke off, frustrated. "It was stupid. I could sit here and rationalize it, but it's done. I'm sorry."  
  
"Why should you be sorry? You don't owe me anything."  
  
"Will you cut the crap?" His voice was low, yet vibrating with anger. "In the technical sense, you're right. I don't _owe_ you a thing. But for some reason, I feel guilty and you feel betrayed, and we're both too busy running away from each other to figure out why."  
  
Olivia stared at him for a full minute, too stunned by his outburst and unnerved by its accuracy to work up a snarky comeback. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft and unsteady. "Do you really want to get into this now?" Her heart slammed inside of her chest and her stomach did sickening flips as she waited for his answer. They'd never gotten this close to the abyss before, and although the thought terrified her and she fully expected him to back down with his next sentence, part of her wanted to cut the bullshit and lay it out there.  
  
Elliot studied her, watching the confusion and fear playing over her features. A dozen different answers to her question scrolled through his mind, but something in her expression told him that if he deflected this with humor or sarcasm one more time, he might not get another chance. So he decided to be honest. "No. I don't want to get into this now. I don't want to get into this at all. Ever. But I almost died, Liv. And you know what my last thought was about? You. My life didn't flash before my eyes or whatever. I thought about _you_." He cleared his throat, steadying his voice. "I thought about the fact that I'd promised you a conversation, and not only was I breaking that promise, but I was going to die after months of treating you like crap and without saying a whole shitload of things that I should have said to you."  
  
Olivia paled, stunned by his admission and amazed that he hadn't opted for retreat. Finally she offered him a half-smile, her eyes shiny, and asked, almost inaudibly, "What things?"  
  
The atmosphere of the room shifted. Thickened. Olivia didn't move, afraid that any alteration in her stance would make Elliot backtrack. She was strangely conscious of her own breathing, the pulse point in Elliot's neck, the vivid red segmented numbers on the clock beside Elliot's bed. After what seemed like hours, but was probably more like thirty seconds, Elliot's eyes locked on hers and he spoke. "Liv." His voice was low and rough and unnervingly sexy. A rush of heat flooded her body, and she halfway hated him for being able to play her so effortlessly.  
  
"Yeah?" _Don't look away. You can do this_.  
  
"You know that I'm. . . " His sentence was cut off by the click of the opening door. A dark-haired man in his mid to late thirties walked in, totally unaware that he had interrupted anything, and said to Elliot, "How are you doing on the reduced dosage of Demerol, Mr. Stabler?"  
  
Elliot's eyes snapped away from Olivia's, their tentative connection shattered. He coughed slightly before he answered the doctor. "Uh, fine. I'd rather not feel so out of it, so it hurts more than I'd like, but it's nothing I can't handle." He looked back at Olivia, who was studying the linoleum pattern on the floor, her cheeks uncharacteristically flushed. "Dr. Brandeis, this is my partner, Detective Benson."  
  
The doctor nodded, polite but distracted. "Nice to meet you."  
  
"You, too." _Get yourself together, Liv. Minimal talking until you snap out of it_.  
  
Dr. Brandeis leafed through Elliot's chart, pulled his pen from the pocket of lab coat and made a note before he began to speak again. "Although we're not going to discharge you for another four or five days, I want to talk to you about the long-term effects of your injuries. Do you want your partner to wait outside?"  
  
"No. It's fine." Elliot tried to catch Olivia's eyes, but she was looking anywhere but at him.  
  
"Okay. That may work better anyway when you hear what I have to say." Dr. Brandeis leaned against the table, inadvertently pushing Olivia's purse backward. "Your improvement over the past 36 hours has been impressive. Your body is healing more quickly than we had any reason to anticipate when you were in surgery. However, the damage to your ribs, kidney, and lung is not something that will disappear by next week. You won't be able to return to work at all for at least two weeks from the time of your discharge, and when you do, you'll be deskbound for another six weeks, minimum."  
  
"Terrific." Elliot fiddled with the hem of his sheet. "Any other good news you'd like to lay on me while you're at it?"  
  
"You're not dead." Elliot acknowledged this with a sarcastic smile as the doctor continued. "There actually is more. Do you want the full story now?"  
  
Elliot shrugged, then wished he hadn't when the pain washed through his chest again. "Yeah, just hit me with everything and get it over with," he answered, exhaling slowly.  
  
"For at least a couple of weeks after we spring you, it would be best if you had someone staying with you most, if not all of the time. Your movement will be severely restricted, and you shouldn't be walking up and down stairs a lot. You won't be able to drive, go grocery shopping, and so on. You get the picture."  
  
"Yeah. I get it." _Shit. This is fucking perfect_. Elliot rubbed his hand over his face. "I'll take care of it. Thanks for letting me know what I have to look forward to."  
  
"Well, it's my job to give up the news whether the patient wants to hear it or not." Dr. Brandeis grinned. "If you have any more questions or you need to push your Demerol back up, just buzz the desk and they'll find me. It was nice to meet you, Detective Benson." His shoes squeaked on the linoleum as he walked into the hallway.  
  
They could still hear his footsteps when Olivia said quietly, "Let me come and stay with you."  
  
"You don't have to do that. I'll figure something out. I don't want you babysitting me.  
  
"It's not babysitting. I want to. Just. . . let me. Please."  
  
 _You want her there. Stop pretending you don't_. "Okay, but. . . ." He trailed off, trying to figure out what he wanted to say. "Uh, we've really jacked up the weirdness factor here in the past few minutes."  
  
Olivia's face broke into the first full-blown smile that Elliot could remember seeing from her in months. "We have, haven't we?" _We are so completely fucked up_. She took a deep breath and held it for a minute before she continued. "Well, I can't speak for you, but I'm tapped out on pretending that everything's normal."  
  
"It's not working, is it?"  
  
"Not even a little."   
  
She smiled again, and Elliot watched her, random images from their interwoven lives flashing like a slide show through his mind. Her unfiltered joy when he told her that his HIV test was negative. Her tears when she stood in that warehouse, holding her gun while apologizing to him for being unable to do what she knew she should. The imperceptible softening in her expression when she looked up from her desk in computer crimes, happy to see that it was him, even though she was the one who had run way in the first place. "We're not just partners anymore, are we?" he asked quietly.  
  
Her eyes filled, but though she didn't respond for awhile, she didn't shift her gaze. Finally she brushed the back of her hand over her eyes and said, "No. We're not. I'm not sure there's a word for what we are now."  
  
"Scared shitless?"  
  
"That's two words."  
  
"Right."  
  
"I should go. You need to sleep." She stood up abruptly, reaching for her purse. "Did Kathy bring the kids today?" _That's good. Back to safe territory_.  
  
"Maureen brought Kathleen, but they didn't stay that long because I was still pretty out of it. Kathy came by with the twins about an hour before Dani got here, and at least I got to talk to them. They'll all be back tomorrow."  
  
"How are you feeling, aside from your manly self-imposed pain from making them cut back the Demerol?"  
  
He ignored her sarcasm. "I'll take the pain over the drug trip. And my eyes are quite a bit better today. I can't see perfectly, but it's a lot easier to focus." He looked at Olivia, poised for flight, and was suddenly determined to keep her there, if only for another minute. "You're catching me at the most lucid I've been all day. Not that you'd guess that from what I've been saying."  
  
"Lucky me. I'm. . . I'm gonna take off." _Crap_. "I'll come by tomorrow night."  
  
He leaned back against his pillow. "Okay. Um, Liv?"  
  
She cleared her throat. "Listen, I know I'm the one who supposedly wanted to have this infamous conversation in the first place, but could we maybe table it until you get out of here? I just. . . ." She broke off, desperately wishing she could make him understand what was going through her head. _I'm afraid if we actually start talking about this I'll never shut up. I don't know how to deal with the fact that you can reduce my insides to jello just by saying my name like that. What happens if you do it again and we're not in a hospital room?_ "I just need a little processing time."  
  
"Fair enough. I guess if you're staying with me we won't be lacking opportunities for conversation." _Or other opportunities. God. Get a life, Stabler. You can't even move_.  
  
"Probably not. I'll see you tomorrow." She leaned over and ran her fingers down the inside of his arm to his hand, which she squeezed gently before walking out. He could still feel her touch on his skin long after the echo of her heels had stopped bouncing off the walls of the hallway.  
  
________________  
  
For Olivia, the next five days passed in a blur. She left for work before the sun came up, then spent twelve hours sifting through files and computer records to try and make connections that could strengthen their position against Sunhill, Brennan  & McGann. Around six or seven, she left work and drove to the hospital, where she spent an hour or so with Elliot before heading home either to continue working or to drop into an exhausted sleep so that she could do it all over again in the morning. Occasionally her routine was varied by a task force meeting, but she found those even more annoying than the endless file-scanning, because the inter-agency infighting and general lack of consensus seemed to guarantee that the investigation might go on indefinitely.  
  
Her visits with Elliot were friendly, but, as if by mutual agreement, somewhat reserved. They talked about work, his kids, the horrible television he'd been watching, but stayed warily away from anything resembling their Thursday night discussion. She was almost surprised when she walked into his room on Tuesday evening and realized that he was going to be released in the morning.  
  
"Hey," he said when he saw her, his face relaxing into a smile as he clicked off the TV and put down the remote. "What do you have there?" he asked, gesturing toward the white bag in her hand.  
  
"Dr. Brandeis finally gave me permission to bring you something besides hospital food. It's still just tuna salad on whole wheat, but I thought it might be an improvement over the orange jello." She handed him the sandwich and opened her own, absently trying to remember whether she had eaten lunch.  
  
"Thanks. Jello sucks." He bit into the sandwich and they sat quietly for a few minutes.  
  
When she finished the first half of her sandwich, Olivia said, "Are they still planning to let you go tomorrow?"  
  
Elliot grinned. "I'm gonna have to shoot somebody if they don't. I'm about to go insane in this place." He looked at her, his eyes becoming serious. "You know, Liv, you can rescind your offer to stay with me at any time. I know how you are. I don't want you to feel as if you owe me something."  
  
"I'm not changing my mind, Elliot. So give it up. You're stuck with me for at least two weeks."  
  
________________  
  
Fin and Munch stood at JFK airport, about 300 yards apart, trying to blend in with the crowd of tourists and businesspeople as they waited for the passengers on Justin McGann's plane from Mexico City to disembark. Finally the door into the terminal waiting area opened, and passengers began to trickle out into the main concourse. Fin sipped at his warm Coke and scanned the face of each person who walked out. After about three minutes, he spotted McGann, shouldering the same carry-on bags he had taken with him, and engaged in intense conversation with a Hispanic man in an impeccably tailored suit. Fin spoke into his handpiece. "Munch. Edwards. Sacchetti," he said, addressing his partner and the two DEA agents who were working with them. "I've got him. He has company."  
  
"I know," answered Munch. "Who's this guy?"  
  
"Don't recognize him," replied Edwards. "He's not in our Delgado cartel file."  
  
"We'll pull the tape from the security cameras and get the manifest," answered Fin. McGann and his acquaintance shook hands, apparently preparing to part company. "We'll tail McGann. You guys take his buddy here."  
  
"We're on it," said Sacchetti. "We'll call our people in Mexico City and let you know as soon as we get an ID."  
  
"That would be refreshing," said Munch dryly. Neither of the DEA agents bothered to respond.  
  
________________  
  
"Elliot, will you _please_ just sit there?" Olivia's voice was laced with frustration. She came out of the kitchen, holding the paper towel she'd been using to clean up the remains of their dinner. "I'm here so that you'll move less, not so that you can try to get off the couch every two minutes. Dr. Brandeis told you to walk enough to get through the door and then sit down."  
  
Elliot shot her a look, but sighed and sank back into the couch cushions. "I fucking hate this." He was so tired of the feeling that his entire life was taking place outside of his control. If just one goddamn thing could be his choice, instead of his ex-wife's, his partner's, his captain's, or his doctor's, maybe he wouldn't feel so powerless. When Kathy had left, he'd lost any sense of balance; he was beginning to wonder if he'd ever find it again.  
  
"I'm getting that," Olivia answered wryly. "Bitching about it won't change the fact that your body has to heal."  
  
"I'm not bitching!" protested Elliot, his tone still grumpy but the beginnings of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.  
  
"Sure you are. Now sit still while I grab my bag from the car, and then we can watch a movie or something."  
  
"Okay Mom."  
  
"Shut up." She threw the wadded up paper towel in her hand at his head, hitting him directly on his left temple.  
  
"Oh that's nice. Assault the wounded."  
  
"You keep saying you don't want to be treated like an invalid. So I can throw stuff at you if I want." She grinned and walked toward the door. Elliot's eyes followed her, and despite his best efforts, he couldn't keep them from drifting down to notice the way that her jeans hugged her ass. He shook his head, which still felt slightly fuzzy from the drugs, then picked up the glass of ice water she had set on the end table and pounded the entire thing in a few gulps. _Good god. You may not live through two weeks of this_.  
  
________________  
  
By 9 p.m., Olivia, wearing flannel pajama bottoms and an oversized t-shirt, was passed out on Elliot's couch, one of her bare feet resting against his thigh. The muted television flickered in the half-darkness, and Elliot listened to the familiar nighttime sounds of his home - the hum of the refrigerator, the occasional drip of the faucet he had meant to fix before he landed himself in ICU, the banging outside as a neighbor dragged his trashcan down the steps. He knew that he wouldn't be going to sleep anytime soon, because even the limited amount of movement he had done today was a lot more than he'd accomplished in the hospital, and the pain had returned with a vengeance. He was beginning to sweat, although it wasn't hot. Reaching for the pain pills on the end table, he popped two into his mouth and chased them with the half-warm glass of milk Olivia had insisted he should drink. He turned his head to watch her next to him, her breathing even and her face more relaxed than he could recall seeing it for years. He didn't want to wake her up, but he knew that she'd feel horrible in the morning if she spent the whole night sideways on half of his couch.  
  
"Hey," he said softly, touching her leg.  
  
She started, sitting upright abruptly. "What's wrong?"  
  
"Nothing. Relax. I just didn't want you to sleep here all night. Go sleep in my bed. There are fresh sheets in the linen closet to the left of the bathroom."  
  
Olivia leaned back again, her face soft and sleepy. "You're not going to bed?"  
  
He smiled tightly. "I would if my whole body didn't feel like it was working its way through a cement mixer."  
  
"Then I'll stay up and keep you company." She noticed that her foot was on his leg, and swiftly pulled it away, crossing her legs in front of her.  
  
"I appreciate the offer, but I'm really not up for small talk right now."  
  
"Okay. Does that mean you don't want to talk at all, or that you just don't want to talk about the weather?"  
  
"It means that between the drugs and this whole situation, I'm not trusting myself to edit the way I usually do, and I don't want to get into trouble."  
  
"There's a first." Olivia leaned forward, searching the couch cushions until she located the remote. "Let's see what's on TV." She pushed the power button.  
  
"TV sucks. When Kathy and the kids moved out, I downsized to basic cable, and now I get something like three channels. I think one of them is entirely devoted to golf." He shifted his weight on the couch. The pain medication was beginning to kick in, but he still felt uncomfortable and inexplicably restless.  
  
"So what's your suggestion?" asked Olivia, amused by his combative attitude. "You don't like any of my ideas."  
  
"I'm out of suggestions. You're tired. Go to sleep. I'm fine."  
  
"I don't want to go to bed, Elliot. Stop telling me what to do. If you don't want to talk, fine. We'll sit here." She reached behind her and pulled a paperback off the end table, removed the bookmark, and began to read.  
  
Elliot couldn't help but smile at her stubbornness. He glanced at the muted television, which displayed some _Star Trek_ rerun in which Picard, Beverly, and Data were stuck in the holodeck, unable to escape no matter what they tried to do. Elliot found himself strangely sympathetic to their plight. He looked back at Olivia, but she was either genuinely interested in her book, or doing an impressive job of faking it. After watching her eyes track back and forth across the page for several minutes, he said softly, "What do _you_ think happened, Liv?"  
  
She lifted her head to look at him and set the book down. She didn't bother to pretend not to know what he was talking about. _You're up, Liv. Make this good_. She squeezed her hands together to keep them from trembling. "I think that when Kathy left, she blew apart the balance we'd spent six years working out. You were married. Off limits. That was the end of it. So if every now and then I found myself wishing you'd stay and do paperwork with me instead of going home to your wife, or caught myself thinking how hot you looked in a certain shirt, it didn't matter. I put it out of my mind and we went on doing our jobs." _I can't believe I just said that_. "But then she was gone, and you started to give me those looks, yet half the time you were such an asshole that I figured I was totally misreading you anyway, and before long we dug ourselves into this pattern of denial and retreat that we haven't been able to work our way out of."   
  
Her voice wavered as she continued, looking right into his eyes, her own expression a mixture of sadness and hope. "I tried to leave, Elliot. Because of you. But I couldn't do it. Whatever it is that we are to each other, I think it's pretty clear that I can't walk away." She breathed in, trying to combat the sickening feeling in her stomach as she waited for him to respond. Before he could, she said abruptly, "I think I need wine."  
  
He laughed, regretted it, and clutched his ribs. "There are a few bottles by the fridge. Have at it. Corkscrew's in the middle drawer to the left of the sink." She pushed herself off the couch and padded barefoot into the kitchen, while Elliot sat motionless on the couch, frantically trying to process what she had just said. He heard the banging of drawers and the clinking of glasses, and eventually she returned, a large wine glass clutched in her right hand.  
  
She resumed her place on the couch and said, "Your turn. You're not getting out of this."  
  
He looked directly at her. "I'm not trying to." He arched an eyebrow. "Maybe my pain pills will do for me what you're hoping the wine will do for you. Chemical reinforcements." He fell silent for several minutes. When he spoke, his voice was soft and thick. "Everything you just said is true. I treated you like crap. Some of that was because of my own issues, like the fact that my wife of 20 years suddenly decided to dump me one day. But that wasn't the only problem."  
  
"What else?" she prompted gently.  
  
 _Cards on the table time, Stabler. You can't avoid this indefinitely. And if she runs, at least she'll know the truth_. He continued, his voice rough, strained. "It was getting harder by the day for me to pretend to myself and to everyone else that I hadn't completely fallen for you. It was bad enough when you were gone, but now that you're back, it's impossible."  
  
Olivia choked on the large sip of wine she had just taken. After several coughs, she said, her voice unsteady and her eyes watery, "Wow. That's, um, not even remotely what I expected you to say." She looked at him, a slight flush creeping into her cheeks.  
  
He studied her, eyes shiny, cheeks flushed with a mixture of wine and embarrassment, and thought, for probably the thousandth time since he'd regained consciousness, that he would never get tired of watching her face. Now that he'd said what he'd been thinking, whether consciously or unconsciously, for close to two years, an overwhelming sense of relief flooded through him. He relaxed into the couch, assuming that Olivia would pick up the conversation when she was ready.  
  
In contrast, Olivia's entire body was tense, and she finished her wine more quickly than she probably should have in an attempt to take the edge off. When she had swallowed the last drop, she set the glass on the end table and focused on Elliot, who was regarding her with a mixture of amusement and something that struck her viscerally as far more dangerous. It occurred to her that he was allowing himself to look at her the way he wanted to, without his self-imposed filter. She cleared her throat, agitated by the intensity of his expression, feeling as if she might jump out of her own skin. "So what now?"  
  
"It's your move. I put an awful lot on the table."  
  
"This conversation is just bizarre." She wished that there were more wine in her glass, but she wasn't going to acknowledge the severity of her discomfort by getting up to fill it.  
  
"That's all you've got to say?"  
  
"Why are you pushing this?" She pulled her legs up to her chest, hugging her knees as if that might help to hold her together.  
  
"You started it!" he retorted with a mischievous smile, but his expression quickly sobered. "Because I told you the truth. And I want to know." The set of his jaw told her that he wasn't backing down.  
  
"Jesus, Elliot. Yes, okay? I'm . . . " She fumbled for words. "Attracted to you."  
  
He shook his head. "Not good enough."  
  
She felt the flush rising in her cheeks again. _Why did I want to have this conversation_? "God. I'm trying here, but I'm really bad at this, you know?" The wine that had seemed like a good idea only minutes before was now making her feel vaguely sick. She desperately wanted to say something, but the words and phrases zigzagging through her mind wouldn't form themselves into coherent sentences.  
  
The phone rang, breaking the lengthy silence. Because she could move faster, Olivia leaned toward the coffee table and grabbed the cordless. "Benson," she said, her voice a few notes lower than usual.  
  
"Olivia. Put Elliot on the phone. Now." She wordlessly handed Elliot the receiver, knowing better than to argue when Cragen used that tone.  
  
"Stabler."  
  
"It's Cragen. As if you weren't awash in good news, I've got more. I assume that Olivia's kept you up-to-date on the investigation, and you're aware that Munch and Fin were waiting for McGann to get back from Mexico."  
  
"Yeah. What about it?"  
  
"He came back this morning, accompanied by a Mexican gentleman who nobody could readily ID. They split, and Munch and Fin followed McGann, while the DEA guys took his unidentified buddy." Cragen paused for a beat. "DEA called with the ID just a few minutes ago. Martin Romero, another ‘employee' of the Delgado cartel. George is working up a profile from the DEA information, but so far it pretty much looks like this guy shows up ‘when you care enough to send the very best.'"  
  
The pieces suddenly clicked together. Elliot swallowed, adrenaline snaking through his system. "I'm his next hit."  
  
"Looks that way."  
  
"Well, DEA's on him, so I assume I'll know if he's about to knock on my front door."  
  
"That's the problem, Elliot. In another demonstration of their stunning ability to screw up under any and all circumstances, they lost the guy. At this point, no one has the slightest clue where he is. He's vanished."   
  
Elliot looked at Olivia, who was watching him intently, her face tight with concern. He said, his voice level, "Okay. Thanks for the update."  
  
"I don't think you're quite getting the picture here," replied Cragen sharply. "Our best guess is that this guy has been sent to rub out both you and Dani, because from what DEA tells me, these people have a big thing about honor, saving face, all that crap. Which means that they're not going to let one of their most illustrious employees get whacked by a city cop without working out some payback. You need to get out of here. Dani's already gone."  
  
"No way. It's not gonna happen."  
  
"This is a bad time for one of your famed fits of stubbornness. What do you think Olivia's gonna say? She'll want you out of here."  
  
"Probably. And I'll deal with that. I appreciate your concern. But I'm not leaving."  
  
Cragen was silent for a beat, then said, resigned, "Have it your way. But remember that you're not the only one in that house. I'll call you the minute I know anything new."  
  
From the slam he heard a second later, Elliot could tell that Cragen had replaced the phone in its cradle with more than his usual vehemence. He clicked his own phone off and set it on the end table. Raising his eyes to meet Olivia's, he said, with forced cheerfulness, "Wanna play Uno?"  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"Worth a try."  
  
"Knock it off, Elliot. What's going on?"


	4. Chapter 4

"Say something before I call Cragen myself." Olivia leaned forward, hands on her knees, any buzz from the wine gone, replaced with a dull headache she assumed would intensify before the conversation was over.  
  
Elliot jerked his head toward the end table behind him. "I've got the phone."  
  
"My cell is right behind me. I gather there's a price on your head now? Talk."  
  
Elliot rubbed his temples, wishing he hadn't taken the pain pills. He knew that he should be upset about the latest turn of events, but putting aside Olivia's presence in the house, the situation seemed almost comic. How many New York cops had the distinction of having two professional assassins sent after them in the same week? He said, attempting to keep the atmosphere as light as possible under the circumstances, "McGann returned from Mexico with a new friend -- one Martin Romero, who, according to Cragen, has been sent to snuff me and Dani."  
  
"Cragen's right. You need to get out of here."  
  
"What for?" Elliot asked, his humor evaporating as the anger welled up again. "I'm unbelievably tired of everyone else making decisions for me and then sending the memo telling me how it's gonna be. I'm staying. If this guy is as good as his rep, he'll track me down no matter where I go, so why bother running when I feel like shit? I've got a doctor's appointment first thing in the morning anyway." He paused, unsure of how to phrase his next few sentences. "But you need to go right now. This guy is a professional, which means I'm his mark and he'll only kill you if it's necessary in order to get to me. As long as you're somewhere else, you'll be safe. I'll call and have an unmarked take you home." Elliot reached behind him to grab the cordless.  
  
"Put the phone down. Now." Her tone was icy.  
  
"No. This isn't negotiable."  
  
"In what universe do you tell me what's negotiable? You hit me with the stuff you were saying thirty seconds before Cragen called, and now you expect me to walk out the door and say, ‘See ya. Hope you don't get your head blown off before we have the chance to talk again?'"  
  
"Liv. . . "  
  
"Shut up. If you're staying, so am I. Even if you want to retract everything you just said, I'm still your partner, and it's my job to watch your back." She noticed that her fingernails were digging into her palms, and stopped talking for a moment, breathing deeply in an attempt to calm herself. Elliot, aware of just how severely he'd pissed her off, remained silent until she continued. "None of this matters anyway, because we both know that Cragen's already got a detail on the way over here - most likely the biggest one either of us has ever seen. You might persuade him to kick me out of the house, but you can't keep me from being part of the operation outside. You want some choices? Here's one. In or out. But I'm staying." She breathed rapidly as she stared at him, daring him to contradict her.  
  
"In." His voice was quiet. "And I'm not retracting anything. I just don't want you dead."  
  
 _Did I always find you this irresistible_? She felt the anger drain away, replaced by numbing exhaustion. She leaned back against the couch, running her fingers through her hair. "Does it never occur to you that, while I may not have been at my most eloquent right before Cragen called, I don't want you dead either?" She looked down at the plaid pattern on her pajama pants, eyes fixed on the threads as she continued to speak, her voice so low that he could barely hear her. "You don't know what it was like." She was silent for a full minute, struggling to shape into words a feeling that defied language. "I was sitting there at my desk, drinking coffee and doing paperwork, and Cragen called to say that you might die before I could catch a plane home. Then the waiting. More waiting. Trying to talk to people. Act normal." She looked up, her eyes meeting his. "I can't do it again, Elliot. Especially not if the outcome is different."  
  
"I do know. That's why I left that little boy and came to you at the bus terminal. Because I know." He kept his eyes focused on hers, not sure what he was admitting.  
  
"What are we doing here?" she asked apprehensively.  
  
"I don't know!" he exclaimed, frustration punctuating each word. _Calm down. Don't start yelling_. "You said you were tired of pretending. So am I. Everything would be a lot simpler if whatever I feel about you now fit within a neat little box labeled ‘partner' or ‘friend.' But it doesn't. Under normal circumstances, I'd probably ask you out."  
  
She raised an eyebrow. "You want to ask me out?"  
  
"No! Well, yes." He rubbed his hands briskly over his face. "Shit."  
  
She smirked, her expression reflecting both amusement and discomfort. "It's way too late for us to ‘go out.' We'd feel like idiots. In the past eight years, I've spent more time with you than I have with any other human being. We finish each other's sentences. We can't go for coffee to get acquainted."  
  
Elliot grinned. "Is that your tactful way of saying you'd date me if I didn't already bore you out of your mind?"  
  
 _Boring is not a word I will ever associate with you_. She struggled to fight the waves of anxiety that made her want to run upstairs and lock herself in the bathroom. "Maybe."  
  
"Well that's a start."  
  
They both fell silent. Olivia listened to the Doppler shift as a helicopter passed overhead. Finally she said, in almost a whisper, "It's against all the rules, Elliot."  
  
"Yeah. It is," he replied quietly. "And I've tried for two years to care. But we both know it's gonna happen." He reached for her hand, turned it palm up, and rubbed his thumb in slow, hypnotic circles over the inside of her wrist. "Go ahead. Tell me it's not."  
  
Her mind and her body disconnected, the former enumerating the reasons she should be going into panic mode, while the latter turned liquid at the feeling of his skin on hers. Before she could determine which half to listen to, the phone rang. She pulled her hand away from Elliot, instantly self-conscious.  
  
He cautiously reached for the phone behind him and punched the talk button, muttering under his breath, "I'm really starting to hate this thing." His voice returned to normal volume. "Stabler."  
  
"It's Cragen. We've got the protective detail in place outside. I've authorized it full-scale until we can figure out a way get the hit order revoked, though I'm not quite clear on how we'll manage that. Tomorrow while you're at the hospital we'll have some people inside installing electronic monitoring equipment as a backup for the manpower. Hold on." Elliot waited while Cragen apparently conversed with someone else. He glanced over at Olivia, who looked even more tense than she had before the phone rang, if that was possible. Cragen's voice came back on the line. "George is here with his profile on this Romero guy. I'm gonna put him on."  
  
"Elliot." George sounded tired and concerned. "How are you holding up?"  
  
"I'm fine. I feel a little claustrophobic at the thought of not being able to walk out of my house, but aside from that, I'm good. Tell me about Romero."  
  
"I wish I had a silver lining for you here, but I don't. Someone at DEA managed to get the files on Romero's hits over the past ten years. He certainly outpaces Martinez - he's got over 40 hits, and those are just the ones that someone knows about. Given his skill, there may be quite a few more."  
  
"Great." Elliot picked up the glass of water on the end table and took a long swallow, fervently wishing that it was a double shot of tequila.  
  
"Romero is a classic assassin. He's amoral, professional, and interested only in the end result. He doesn't care about witnessing his victim's death or inflicting pain. He cares about success. Most of his hits have been with a sniper rifle - his favorite seems to be the M-40A3 -- but he's highly flexible and he'll use whatever's available to him or works best for the occasion. If there is an upside, it's that he has a strict policy against subcontracting his work, so he'll be coming for you himself."  
  
"There's the glass half-full perspective. Thanks, George. Go home. It's after 11."  
  
"I'm going. Call me if you need to talk. I'm not sure you're aware of how much stress a situation like this can put on you."  
  
"Thanks for the reminder. I'll keep it in mind. Good night." He hung up, feeling aggravated, jittery, and completely pissed off by the entire situation. After a few deep breaths, he said to Olivia, who had managed to keep silent throughout the phone call, "The good news is that if he's coming, he's coming himself. Or so George says."  
  
Olivia said nothing for several minutes, then asked, "What about the ride to the hospital tomorrow?"  
  
"Cragen's got it covered. Believe me. I'm afraid to look outside. I don't even want to know how many people he's called in on this. He probably borrowed a tank. I feel like such a jackass -- everybody out there babysitting me when there's crap going down all over the city as we speak."  
  
"Cragen's just concerned." She spoke more sharply than she had intended, and realized that in her current state of mind, she needed to get out of Elliot's presence. Quickly. She stood up and said, "I'm wiped out, and you need to sleep, too. I'll crash here on the couch. Where's an extra blanket?"  
  
He shook his head. "I have a king-sized bed, Olivia. You'll be more comfortable there than down here scrunched up on the couch.  
  
"You just got out of the hospital! I'm not kicking you out of your bed."  
  
"That isn't exactly what I meant."  
  
She bit her lip. _You had me hot and bothered with your thumb on my wrist, and now you want me to crawl into bed with you_? "Thanks. But I think that's a bad idea."  
  
"Give me a break. I couldn't make a move on you if I tried." _And right about now I really wish that weren't true_.  
  
"No. Just. No. The couch is fine." She shifted on her feet, her arms crossed defensively.  
  
Acknowledging defeat, he said softly, "Okay. There are a couple extra blankets on the top shelf of the closet by the front door."  
  
She took a step toward him. "Do you want me to go up with you?"  
  
 _God, yes_. "No. Gotta start somewhere."  
  
"Okay. Good night." She reached over to click off the lamp by the couch.  
  
"Night." He started slowly for the stairs. When he reached the bottom step, he turned back toward her, noticing that she still hadn't moved to lie down. His voice was low as it cut through the near-darkness of the room. "I meant what I said. This is gonna happen. And I'm still waiting for you to tell me it's not." He ascended the stairs without waiting for her reply.  
  
________________  
  
Although she was exhausted, Olivia woke up just after dawn, surprised that she had managed to sleep that long. She lay still for awhile, listening for Elliot upstairs, but heard nothing, and decided that he must be even more tired than she was. Eventually she pushed off her blankets and walked into the kitchen, trying to be as quiet as possible as she searched for coffee, eggs, and toast. When she had the eggs scrambling and the coffee brewing, she heard footsteps on the stairs. She turned to see Elliot gradually maneuvering his way to the kitchen. "Hey. How are you feeling? I made something to eat so we can get going."  
  
He smiled at her standing there in her pajamas, spatula in hand, as if every morning they shared scrambled eggs and coffee in his kitchen. As if every morning they sat around calmly eating breakfast while waiting for a professional assassin to make his first move. "I'm okay. Being still for so long makes everything more sore, so I'll feel better after I can move a little. Thanks for cooking. Are you sure the eggs aren't poisonous?"  
  
"I checked the date. They're fine." She set a plate for him at the table, and he lowered himself into the chair. As he picked up his fork, the phone rang. "It has to be Cragen. It's not even 6:30." She walked to the living room to grab the cordless. "Benson."  
  
"Olivia. It's Cragen. You two need to be ready to go by 7:15. We'll pull the armored van into the garage and load Elliot there. This is his last appointment for a few days, right? I wouldn't want to organize this crap on a regular basis."  
  
"Yeah. Just the post-discharge checkup, mainly to make sure his kidney is healing." She paused. "Are you outside?"  
  
"Not yet. But I'll be there for the ride to the hospital. Romero probably knows about the appointment, so I'm not taking any chances." He hung up without saying goodbye.  
  
Olivia grabbed her own plate and sat down across from Elliot. "We'd better eat fast. In 45 minutes your own personal armed escort is leaving for the hospital."  
  
Elliot put down his fork and took a large sip of coffee. "Have I mentioned that this sucks?"  
  
She grinned. "Once or twice." Her face became serious. "Once we get through this hospital run, things should calm down. With everybody outside it'll be hard for him to hit you at home, and we can buy some time to figure out a game plan." Though she didn't want the eggs, and they tasted somewhat like squishy cardboard, she ate them anyway, knowing that she couldn't afford to crash in the middle of the morning.  
  
Elliot stood up, slowly carrying his empty plate to the dishwasher. She intercepted him, reaching for the plate while lightly touching his arm. "Let me do it. Go take a quick shower. Let's get this over with."  
  
He opened his mouth as if to respond, but changed his mind and just nodded. He walked toward the downstairs bathroom, then turned and said uncertainly, "Uh, Liv? I forgot to grab clean clothes, and I'm not supposed to be running up and down the stairs. Could you. . ."  
  
She cut him off. "It's okay. I'll find something and stick it inside the door. Go." She sipped coffee as she quickly cleaned up the kitchen, then ran upstairs to find Elliot's clothes, all the while trying to ignore the feeling of dread that wrapped itself persistently around her chest, making it hard for her to breathe. _Just let us get to the hospital and back_. She finally went to take her own shower, pushing away the thought that she could only keep doing this for so long before she hit her breaking point.  
  
________________  
  
The ride to the hospital was eerily silent. Elliot reclined in the middle seat of the van, unable to see much of anything because the only windows were in the front, and his line of vision was obscured by the seat back ahead of him. Olivia sat opposite him, fighting the impulse to flinch every time she heard an engine rev or a car backfire. At one point she actually drew her weapon in response to an explosion by Elliot's side of the vehicle, but it was only construction workers dropping materials from some scaffolding. Feeling incredibly foolish, she replaced the gun without comment. Elliot's eyes caught hers and he smiled. _It's going to be fine. Relax_.   
  
Olivia, Cragen, and four members of the detail flanked Elliot as they exited the van at the hospital's side entrance. Elliot looked up to see a sharpshooter on the roof of a building across the parking lot, and the impotent anger washed through him again. He was beginning to want to rip this Romero guy's head off.  
  
When they made it to the examination room in the Nephrology Department and Elliot had changed into a hospital gown for his kidney ultrasound, Olivia allowed herself to relax slightly, even though she knew the feeling would be short-lived, since they had to make the return trip. She leafed through a home and garden magazine, absently wondering what kind of people had the time or the desire to make their shrubs look like animals. She looked up at Elliot, who was staring at the wall opposite him, his jaw set in anger. "How are you holding up?" she asked, knowing it would be pointless to try to distract him by introducing a different topic of conversation.  
  
"Best day of my life," he replied, sarcasm enfolding each syllable. "I hate this. I hate feeling helpless. I hate the fact that other people are putting their lives at risk in order to protect me. I hate that I could watch you die because you're too stubborn to back down on this. The selfish part of me is glad you're here, but the rest of me wishes you'd take a vacation to the South of France."  
  
"We had this conversation last night. Let's skip the rehash."  
  
"Fine. You're the one who asked how I felt." Silence fell between them again, the tension vibrating with a life of its own.  
  
A moment later, a technician walked in, pushing a portable ultrasound machine. He wheeled the machine to the left of Elliot's bed, then handed Elliot a small white medicine cup. "My name is Michael. I'm sure you're not glad to be back, Detective Stabler, but as soon as we get this kidney test done, we'll spring you for at least a week." He leaned over the keypad below the ultrasound display and began to type in some information. "We can do the test about ten minutes after you've taken the pills. There's water on your table."  
  
Elliot picked up one of the pills and swallowed it with a large swig of water. "Damn. That thing is huge. What are these for?"  
  
Michael answered without looking up from the screen. "One of them is an indicator for the ultrasound. It helps to light up any damaged tissue. Be thankful; we used to use this horrible-tasting liquid. The other one is a glucose pill so we can do a blood draw to make sure that your blood sugar is remaining stable."  
  
"What about the third one?"  
  
"What do you mean? There are only two." Michael kept typing, occasionally looking at Elliot's chart for information.  
  
Olivia's entire body went cold. Her eyes locked with Elliot's for a split second, and she was standing between him and Michael before Elliot could even figure out how she'd moved. She grabbed the medicine cup from Elliot's hand and held it in front of the tech. "What did he just take? There are still two pills left in here. What the _hell_ did he just take?" Her voice was shaking, but her tone had the desired effect, because Michael instantly stopped typing and took the cup from her. She felt Elliot's hand on her arm, warm and reassuring, and wondered how he could be so calm.  
  
After a moment, Michael said, his voice tense but steady, "It's okay. He took the indicator. The cream-colored one is the glucose, but I have no idea what this blue one is. No one in our department gave this to you, Detective Stabler, and there were two pills in this cup when it was sitting beside the ultrasound outside your door, about thirty seconds before I pushed the machine in here. I turned away to check your chart, but two police officers were standing right there."  
  
Olivia nodded, already pushing the speed dial on her cell. "Captain, it's Olivia. Romero's here. Elliot came this close to swallowing a pill that somehow managed to find its own way into his medicine cup. Get the place locked down. I'll call you back."  
  
Because she knew it was the only way she would keep control at this point, Olivia forced herself into interrogation mode, focusing her attention on Michael to avoid thinking about what had almost happened. "Did you see or hear anyone walk by while you were checking the chart?"  
  
Michael paused, considering her question. "I didn't notice anyone close enough to be within range of the cup. Of course I heard people walking by, but it's a busy place. That's nothing unusual." He looked at Elliot. "Do you still want to do the test?"  
  
"Might as well. I'm even less in the mood to come back here now than I was before," Elliot replied darkly. He added, "I don't know about my kidney, but I can guarantee my colon's working at the moment." He tried to catch Olivia's eye, but she was already heading for the door.  
  
She threw it open and said, in a voice that made Elliot grateful that he wasn't one of the officers standing outside, "Will one of you please locate Dr. Warner. _Now_?" She stepped back into the room, struggling to regulate her breathing. After several deep breaths, she finally looked at Elliot and said, "I'll get Warner to pull every possible string so we can find out what's in that pill." Her face was stoic, but Elliot could tell from her expression that it was taking every ounce of her reserves to hold it together.  
  
Michael glanced back and forth between the two of them and said, "I'll be back in about five minutes to do the test." He stepped into the hallway.  
  
The instant he was gone, Elliot turned to Olivia and said gently, "Hey. I'm okay. Go sit down for a second." He wanted to touch her, but something about her posture told him that physical contact was the last thing she needed right now. What she needed was for him to help her hold it together until they were back at the house.  
  
"I can't sit," she replied, surprised at how normal her voice sounded, since her entire throat felt as if it were stuffed with cotton. "Where the hell is Warner?"  
  
The door opened to reveal Cragen, looking more pissed off than Elliot could ever recall seeing him. "We're positive that you didn't take anything you shouldn't have, right?"  
  
"Yeah. Good thing I didn't choose the pill behind door number two," Elliot answered dryly.  
  
Cragen ignored him. "The hospital's in lockdown, and I've got thirty cops searching for Romero. Nobody on the roof saw anything, so that's already a dead end. But if he's in the building, they'll find him. We can pull videotape from the hospital cameras, but that will take time, and they don't cover everything." He suddenly looked at Olivia. "Will you sit down? You're completely white."  
  
"I'm fine."  
  
Cragen opened his mouth to argue, but Elliot shook his head almost imperceptibly and Cragen said nothing.  
  
A moment later, Michael came in. "Let's get that test done, Detective, and then you can head back to a safer location."  
  
Cragen headed for the door. "I'm gonna make some calls. I'll check back in about half an hour." He left Elliot being prepped for the test and Olivia standing in exactly the same position in which he had found her.  
  
________________  
  
Just as Michael was finishing the ultrasound, Olivia's cell phone rang. She flipped it open and cleared her throat. "Benson."  
  
"It's Cragen. Romero's gone. No one has a theory about how he did it, but he evaporated. This place has been searched twice from top to bottom. I even made them pull the architectural plans to see if we missed anything. But he's gone." Olivia could feel her heart rate accelerating as Cragen continued. "Warner has the mystery pill, and she's all over the lab's ass to ID the substance. She estimates they'll have preliminary results in about half an hour. Are you almost done there? I'm on my way up with a bulked up escort to get us out of here. We got a different van and we're loading from a different location."  
  
Olivia swallowed, fighting nausea. "We're pretty much done. He'll be ready to go within five minutes." She disconnected the phone and looked at Michael. "How's his kidney?"  
  
Michael smiled. "It may be your only good news for the day, but the kidney is healing remarkably well. There's still some swelling from the bruising, but that should subside within another week. I don't see any evidence of a long-term problem." He slid the chart onto a shelf under the machine and unlocked the cart's wheels. "Good luck, Detective Stabler. I hope we don't see you back in the hospital for anything other than a checkup."  
  
"So do I," said Elliot under his breath, as Michael wheeled the cart out of the room.  
  
"Liv. Say something." Elliot still refrained from touching her, although he had to ball his hand into a fist in order to do it.  
  
Her voice was flat. "Let's focus on getting you home. We've still got the entire drive to worry about."  
  
________________  
  
The silence in the van on the way back to Elliot's house was at least three times as thick as it had been on the first trip. Olivia abandoned any pretence of restraint, and sat with her weapon resting in her lap, her finger centimeters away from the trigger. Elliot found himself hoping that they didn't bump a curb wrong; he wasn't sure how she'd react.  
  
When they'd been driving for about 20 minutes, the ring of Cragen's cell shattered the silence. "What?" he said, dispensing with his usual greeting. He sat silent while whoever was on the other end of the line spoke for a minute or so, then said simply, "Okay," and disconnected.  
  
Elliot looked at him. "What's up?"  
  
"That was Warner. She must have ripped the lab a new one to get results this fast. It's preliminary, but the best guess is that your mystery pill contained Ricin, enough to kill about twelve people. If you had taken it, you would have been dead within 24 hours."  
  
"Guess this Romero guy's not joking, huh?" Elliot knew he sounded like a jackass, but Olivia's silence was scaring him more and more and he was ready to do almost anything to get some sort of reaction from her.  
  
Again, Cragen chose to ignore Elliot's lame attempt at humor. "You'll stay inside your house until something changes. We may get something off the hospital videotape. TARU's working on it right now. Until then, you're in total lockdown."  
  
Elliot just nodded, watching Olivia, who hadn't moved even since the phone call, except possibly to tighten her grip on her gun.  
  
________________  
  
Olivia entered the house ahead of Elliot, set her weapon on the table, and went directly to the bathroom. She slammed the door shut behind her, jammed the toilet seat up, and vomited every ounce of eggs, toast, coffee and water she had ingested since waking up that morning. Her stomach contracted again and again, and hot tears dripped down her cheeks as she retched. She shook all over, trying to stop gagging, but her body had taken charge and her attempts to regain control were useless. She gave up, and after several minutes the paroxysms subsided into an occasional dry heave.  
  
Elliot stood outside through the worst of it, knowing she'd kill him if he didn't give her some space. When he finally couldn't stand it anymore, and the sound of the toilet flushing told him that the worst was over, he turned the knob and gently opened the door. He found her kneeling upright, still holding the edges of the porcelain bowl, as if she wasn't quite sure she could remain vertical on her own. Without speaking, he handed her a glass of water, then turned on the faucet to dampen the dishcloth he had brought with him from the kitchen. When he had saturated it with cold water, he tentatively knelt in front of her. "Can I wipe your face?" He still didn't want to touch her without her permission. At her microscopic nod, he smoothed the cloth over her forehead, cheeks, and lips, wiping away the sweat that blanketed her skin, then put the cloth in her hand.  
  
"Thank you." She took a tiny swallow of water and set the glass on the floor. "Go sit down, Elliot. You've already exerted yourself way too much today."  
  
He gave a short laugh. "You're hugging my toilet bowl, and you want me to sit down? What about you?"  
  
"Give me a second." Her voice cracked on another involuntary sob.  
  
"Okay. There's a fresh toothbrush in the cabinet." He stood up slowly and left the room, closing the door behind him.  
  
Olivia leaned back against the bathtub and rested her head on her knees. _He's okay. He's right out there in the living room. Get a hold of yourself_. She didn't know how long she sat there, absently wiping away the tears that continued to trace their way down her cheeks. Finally she stood up, brushed her teeth for a good five minutes, and walked back out to face Elliot.  
  
________________  
  
When Olivia emerged from the bathroom, she was still pale and shaky, but Elliot could tell the crisis had passed and she was back in control. He smiled at her, moving his foot so that she could sit. "How ya feeling?"  
  
She sank into the couch, more exhausted than she could recall being in years. "Isn't that supposed to be my line?  
  
"Maybe, but I think I'm better than you are at the moment. What's going on?"  
  
She stared at him, eyes wide. "What's going on? If you had happened to choose a different pill to swallow first, we'd be sitting here having some stupid conversation, totally unaware that in a few hours, you'd have a sky-high fever, uncontrollable vomiting, and about 12 hours to live, because there's no antidote for Ricin. How many times are we supposed to do this? Once in a lifetime would be more than enough, but this is twice in a week, and there's no end in sight." She paused. "Do you have any gingerale?"  
  
"Downstairs. I'll get it for you." He started to get up, but her hand came down firmly on his thigh.  
  
"For god's sake, stop. This is embarrassing enough. I'll get it myself." Elliot heard the stairs creaking, then the clink of ice dropping into a glass. She reappeared a moment later and dropped back onto the couch. After sipping the gingerale for a minute, she set it on the coffee table. "I'm sorry. You're the one with a genius assassin on your ass. It was just a little too much all at once. I'm fine." She fiddled with the hem of her shirt.  
  
"Why do you feel like you have to apologize when you act like a normal human being instead of Supercop?"  
  
"Oh right, ‘cause you're the poster boy for letting your feelings hang out?" she retorted sarcastically.  
  
He almost came back with a smartassed response, but at the last second checked himself, and said instead, "No. I'm not. Never have been. That's at least half the reason we're in this mess, and I don't mean the Romero thing."  
  
"I know what you mean."  
  
"We're the only ones here, Liv. And the way it looks, we're going to be the only ones here for quite awhile. Just tell me what's going on in your head."  
  
"Okay. I'm scared." She stopped, reconsidering. "No, that doesn't cover it. Closer to mortal terror. You said that the job and I are what you have left. But that isn't completely true. You've got your kids. I, on the other hand, have the job. And you."  
  
"You date, Olivia. Don't bullshit me."  
  
"Fine, if you can call it that. But the Tour de France lasts longer than any relationship I've had in the past eight years. I _hate_ depending on people. Because they're not worth it. Because they let me down. Because they want to make me different." She looked at him with shiny eyes as she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "But it's too late with you, Elliot. I depended on you before I knew I was doing it, and now how would I take it back? I can't. I keep trying to think about my life if you were dead, and my mind just shuts down."  
  
"Stop thinking about it. I'm not dead."  
  
She could hear the loud hum of a patrol helicopter overhead, engines fading in and out with each pass. "Not yet."


	5. Chapter 5

Elliot and Olivia passed the next few hours in almost total silence. Elliot turned on the TV and scrolled through the channels again and again, as if one more pass might magically produce a program that would hold his interest for more than three seconds. Olivia held her paperback open in front of her, but when she had looked at the words in the same three paragraphs at least twenty times, and still couldn't recall what they said, she gave up and threw the book on the coffee table. She looked up at Elliot, who was still channel surfing, and said irritably, "Unless you're going to watch something, would you turn the damn thing off?"  
  
Surprised by her tone, he studied her face for a second, then clicked the power button and set the remote next to her paperback. "We're not handling this very well." He wasn't sure whether he was referring to the hit, the constantly escalating tension between them, or both.  
  
"You think?" She smiled apologetically. "I didn't mean to snap at you."  
  
"Don't worry about it. So far this day sucks."  
  
"True. But since we're stuck here, I'm gonna find us something to eat, now that I'm reasonably convinced it might stay down." She got up and walked into the kitchen, opening cupboards one by one. She turned around to evaluate the contents of the fridge, and found herself less than a foot away from Elliot. Her eyes landed on his mouth, and she felt inexplicably lightheaded. "What are you doing?"  
  
He smiled lazily. "Invading your personal space." He didn't move forward, but he didn't move backward either.  
  
Olivia's heart rate accelerated, and again she found herself aggravated by how easily his physical presence could get to her. "Why?"  
  
"Being almost dead twice in a week has kinda rearranged my priorities. I've hit the wall pretending I don't want you just because the fact that we're attracted to each other makes us both incredibly uncomfortable. I keep waiting for you to say that I'm wrong about what's going on here. The moment you do, I'll drop it. And I'm not going to pull some he-man crap and pin you up against the counter or whatever so that you'll tell me how you feel. You know me better than that. I'm not even going to touch you unless you ask me to." He gazed at her, his expression warm and dangerous and sexy. "But I know how much you want to back away right now, and I'm asking you to stand right here, look me in the eye, and tell me that you want to keep playing this game."  
  
"I don't." The words left her mouth before her mind could fully wrap itself around what he was saying. Determined to think before speaking again, she paused, simultaneously aroused and irritated by her increasing awareness of how much she wanted to touch him. Finally, she took a deep breath and looked at him evenly. "You want me to tell you how I feel? I feel as if my life right now is out of my control. Everything between us was an unresolved mess when I left for Phoenix, and now we're sitting here waiting for a hit man to drop you and you're saying that you've fallen for me. It's like I've entered an alternate reality."  
  
"I hear you on the control issue. But there are things we can't change right now, so what are we going to do about the rest of it?"  
  
She fought the urge to back up, at least far enough so that she couldn't smell his aftershave. "I don't know. The other night I said I was bad at this, and even that was a laughable understatement." She looked down, toying with the button on her sleeve. After a beat, she raised her head and continued quietly. "I'm fine with ‘relationships' when the sex doesn't matter. But how am I supposed to go there with you? Setting aside whatever hormonal surge seems to have made us both willing to put getting laid ahead of our jobs, what happens if we screw this up? Which, all things considered, seems highly likely."  
  
He looked at her, amused. "You think I'm not nervous about whatever's going on here? It's been over twenty years since I tried to do this."  
  
"Liar." She stared at him, hurt and angry, halfway hoping that her response might derail him and let her change the subject.  
  
He didn't take the bait. "I assume you're referring to Dani, and whether you realize it or not, that's a cheap shot. The two situations have almost nothing in common. Dani and I laugh about it now. It was a stupid mistake we made because we had our heads up our asses. What I'm saying is that it's been twenty years since I've tried to do this when it means something." He stopped, wondering how honest he could be without forcing her into retreat. "That's not even the whole truth. I've never been in this situation, because I've never felt about anyone the way I feel about you - it's never been this intense or this complicated. But nice try with the deflect. And don't try to bullshit me by pretending that this is just about sex, when we both know that's crap."  
  
She stood there, heart pounding, mouth dry, watching Elliot look at her with an expression so erotic and unguarded it made her certain she could feel every nerve ending in her body. And then, though she couldn't recall moving, her hands were on the sides of his face and her mouth was touching his. Electricity streaked down her spine. _Holy shit_. She slid the tip of her tongue lightly over his bottom lip.  
  
He let out an involuntary gasp. "Jesus Christ, Olivia."  
  
She smiled, touching her mouth to his again, rubbing her tongue against the inside of his lip until he opened his mouth to her. The tip of his tongue stroked hers for a split second, and she felt her whole body contract. He traced an arc across the roof of her mouth, and suddenly she wasn't sure she was likely to remain upright for much longer. She pulled back, her face flushed and her breathing uneven.  
  
Elliot watched her, his breathing equally erratic, the corners of his mouth turning up in an annoyingly smug smile. His hands, however, were still at his sides.  
  
She eliminated the last two inches between them. Putting her lips against his ear, she whispered, "You made your point, smartass. I'm good with the touching now." She leaned back to look at him.  
  
His smile widened. "You're sure?" he teased. "Where can I touch you?"  
  
Her voice was low and unsteady. "Wherever you want."  
  
"Okay." He reached for her face, rubbing his thumbs softly over her bottom lip, sliding his fingers up the back of her neck and into her hair before he drew her mouth to his again. As she kissed him back, her body pressing against his just slightly because she didn't want to hurt him, he found himself thinking that maybe the in-house confinement wasn't such a bad thing. Now that he'd had his hands on her, he couldn't quite figure out how he would manage to keep them off. He slid one of his hands out of her hair and slipped it under her shirt, working his way slowly over her skin, starting at her waist and moving up her side, until his thumb brushed the curve of her breast through the satin of her bra. He sensed her pulling away, and instantly backed up at least a foot. "Sorry," he said, clearing his throat awkwardly.  
  
She shook her head, her face burning, looking more uncertain than he could ever recall seeing her. "Don't be. But if you keep doing that, this isn't gonna stop with kissing, and you're supposed to be taking it easy."  
  
"Kissing you is really easy."  
  
"Shut up." She leaned back against the countertop, wishing that her heart would stop racing and pondering the fact that she had probably blushed more in the past two days than she had in the last eight years. "You want me to make us something to eat now?"  
  
"No. I want to strip you naked and see how quickly I can manage to touch every square inch of your skin."  
  
"Elliot!"  
  
He grinned darkly. "You asked. You kiss me like that, what do you expect me to say? Seriously, if I were perfectly healthy, would you be standing there offering to make me a sandwich?  
  
 _Damn you_. "No, I'd probably be tackling you." She had no idea why she was suddenly being so honest, but she'd lost the will to keep tossing up roadblocks.  
  
Elliot laughed, splinting his side with his arm. "Well, at least we're both in the same boat then."  
  
"And that's a good thing?" Olivia opened the fridge and pulled out a Diet Coke, popped it open, and drank at least a third of it before pausing to breathe. Her body still felt as if it was ten degrees too hot, and although she wasn't sorry about what had just happened, she still couldn't fight the desire to run, if only for a little while. She took another sip of her soda and said quietly to Elliot, "If you don't want me to make you something, I think I'll head over to the precinct for a few hours to check in, see what Munch and Fin have turned up on Romero, and maybe grab a couple boxes of files that you and I can work on while we're in almost solitary confinement."  
  
"You know you could get someone else to bring the files over here. I wish you'd stop with this ‘one step forward, two steps back' thing."  
  
She sighed, tired of all her emotions floating so close to the surface. "I'm not running. I swear. Given my paralyzing fear of what we're doing here, I think I handled that conversation pretty well. But if you want me, you get all the anxiety and the doubt, too. Don't make me use idiotic phrases like, ‘I need space.' I just need to spend a little time without you looking at me like that so I can pull myself together."  
  
He raised an eyebrow. "You don't like that look?"  
  
She smirked. "Oh I like that look. A lot. But it shuts down my higher brain functions."  
  
His face softened, becoming serious. "It's okay, Liv," he said quietly. "I know I pushed you today. But try to remember that we've both spent almost two years making tracks whenever we're scared, and it hasn't worked out all that well."  
  
She smiled, her eyes warm and more open than he'd seen them in a long time. "I'm not ‘making tracks.' I'm taking a few hours to get my shit together, and then we can pick up where we left off." She walked toward the closet to get her coat.  
  
"Really?" he retorted suggestively.  
  
She shot him a look. "You know what I mean. I'll see you later."  
  
Elliot watched the door shut behind her. He lowered himself onto the couch, and realized that he couldn't stop smiling. He leaned back against the cool fabric of the cushions, and it occurred to him that although he was currently incapable of thinking about anything except the feel of Olivia's body in his arms, her breath against his mouth, and the smell of her skin, he was, for the first time in years, looking forward to something. If he hadn't almost forgotten what it felt like, he might have said he was happy.  
  
________________  
  
When Olivia walked back into Elliot's house, carrying a large box full of files, it was after ten, and she couldn't help hoping that Elliot had already gone to bed. The day's events had drained her so completely that she wasn't sure how she'd made it to the precinct and back. She could think of nothing more appealing than throwing on her pajamas, curling up on the couch, and passing out until at least 8 a.m. She still felt flushed every time she remembered Elliot's mouth on her, his hands in her hair, but she liked the thought of having a little more time to adjust before she had to face him again. She shoved the door shut with her elbow, and glanced across the half-dark room to see Elliot sitting on the couch, reading her paperback. _So much for debriefing_. "Hey," she said softly. "Aren't you tired?"  
  
"Beat. But I wanted to wait for you." He put the book down and took a swig from his bottle of water. He sighed. "I'll be so happy when they let me have a damn Coke again. How's the precinct?" He tried to keep the envy out of his voice.  
  
"Quiet. Munch and Fin said to say ‘hi.' They're trying to get some traction on locating Romero, but it's not going well. He seems to have a talent for vanishing. I told them they weren't likely to find him if they landed face first on their desks." She reached into her coat pocket to pull out her chapstick, but instead of grasping the plastic tube, her hand closed around something small and unfamiliar. She pulled out what looked like an off-white jewelry box. "What the hell?"  
  
"What?" Elliot sat up, alerted by her tone of voice.  
  
"Stay over there." Her hand was trembling as she held up the box, trying to scrutinize it without moving it too much. "I didn't put this in my pocket."  
  
Ignoring her command, Elliot pushed himself off the couch so quickly that he gave an involuntary gasp of pain, but it didn't slow him as he closed the distance between them in three strides. "Give it to me."  
  
"Not a chance. Don't even think about touching it. Call Cragen. You know he's got at least one bomb squad guy out there. Ask them what I should do." She stood absolutely still, staring in chilled fascination at the small cube in her hand.  
  
"I'll call him, but give me the fucking box. You've been walking around with it in your pocket for who knows how long, so moving it a few more inches isn't going to change anything."  
  
"You know next to nothing about explosive devices, Elliot," she said, and her voice sounded eerily calm, even to her. "If that's what this is, there are probably a hundred ways to detonate it, and you're only wasting time. Call Cragen."  
  
Elliot's face was white, and for a second she thought he might forcibly take the box from her. He confirmed her suspicions when he said, his voice tight and hostile, "Goddamnit, Liv. I'd knock the thing out of your hand right now if I wasn't afraid of what might happen." He picked up the phone and hit one of the speed dial buttons. "Captain, it's Elliot. Olivia just came back from the precinct with a special something in her pocket. A small jewelry box. We have no idea what's in it or how it got there. What's the protocol here?"  
  
"Okay. Hold on," Cragen replied tersely. Elliot heard him conversing with someone, but couldn't make out the words. A second later he was back on the line. "Tell Olivia to walk out the front door and put the box on the lawn between the house and the squad cars. Then she should haul ass inside. You two go downstairs until we work this out. Take the phone with you." Cragen disconnected immediately.  
  
"Liv, go outside and put the box down between the house and the cars. Get back here faster than you've ever moved." His eyes held hers, anger and fear evident in every subtle shift of his expression.   
  
She acted instantly to follow his instructions. Each step seemed to take five minutes, although she knew this was ridiculous. The sound of her own heels on the sidewalk made her jumpy, but she knew she shouldn't run until the box was out of her hands. Finally she made it to the middle of the lawn, and under the watchful eyes of at least twenty cops, deposited the box on the grass and ran back to the house.  
  
Elliot was standing with the door open, despite the fact that it went against everything the protective detail had told him to do. He held it until she ran inside, then slammed it shut behind him. Taking her hand, he pulled her toward the basement stairs. They both ran down and finally stopped at the bottom, saying nothing while they tried to breathe again. Olivia could tell from the sweat covering Elliot's face that each rapid movement had ratcheted up his pain. His eyes were shiny and almost glazed. After looking at her for another second, he reached out and pulled her gently into his arms. She felt his heart slamming against her chest, and suddenly understood how seriously she'd scared him by refusing to let him take the box outside.  
  
His arms tightened around her, and he smoothed one of his hands up and down over her back. Still angry, his voice hoarse, he said, "Why do you have to be so fucking stubborn?"  
  
She sighed into his shoulder. "I told you why. I can't keep doing this."  
  
"So I get to do it instead?"  
  
"I wasn't thinking about it that way."  
  
"You scared the shit out of me."  
  
She gave a dark laugh, and he could feel her breath through his shirt. "Think about how I felt. I just wanted some chapstick and instead I found a present from your friendly neighborhood assassin."  
  
Elliot pulled back, lifted his hands to her face, and kissed her lips softly three times before releasing her and sinking onto the wooden steps. His shoulders sagged, and she noticed he was still breathing funny.  
  
She sat beside him on the step, and laid her hand on his thigh. "Elliot, when was the last time you took your pain medication?"  
  
He grimaced. "I was going to take it before I went to bed. It's been hours." His face was growing paler by the minute.  
  
"It's bad, isn't it?"  
  
"I've felt better. But I kind of had more important things to worry about than whether I'd remembered my Percocet." He couldn't help but smile when he observed that she hadn't moved her hand from his leg. "I'm actually beginning to wonder if I might puke."  
  
She laughed. "Go ahead. I've had my turn." She turned her face toward him, her expression sobering. "Don't puke. Talk to me about something. Tell me why you were reading my Nelson DeMille book when you claim to hate him."  
  
"It was easy access. And it's not actually that bad," he conceded. "Although he seems to have a thing for middle-aged guys who somehow manage to score powerful, hot, young women."  
  
"Jealous?" Olivia teased, trying to keep his mind off the pain and the unknown threat outside.  
  
"Not even a little," he replied softly, fixing her yet again with that look that made her completely crazy. She lasted for about ten seconds before she caved and glanced away. His serious reply to her attempted banter left her without a comeback, and they both fell silent. Elliot listened to the humidifier humming across the room, and wondered when Cragen would call to give them an update. He also wondered how long it would take for a person to go insane trying to live with this level of tension.  
  
After a full five minutes of quiet, the ringing phone broke through the stillness. Elliot grabbed it, skipped any introduction, and asked impatiently, "What's going on? George said this guy wouldn't come after anybody but me. What's he doing trying to screw with Olivia?"  
  
Cragen came on the line, sounding exhausted, stressed, and pissed off. "First, it's nothing to worry about. The bomb guys think it's poster putty. Which unfortunately happens to look just like several different types of plastic explosive."  
  
"Poster putty? What the hell?" Elliot rubbed his hand over his face, wishing he would wake up to discover that he'd simply fallen asleep over some seriously boring paperwork.  
  
"Don't ask me," replied Cragen. "I've got George on the other line. I'll patch him through so you can hear his theory." The phone clicked several times while Elliot waited.  
  
"Are you okay?" George's tone was calm but concerned.  
  
"No, I'm not okay. I just spent three minutes wondering if Olivia was going to blow up in front of me."  
  
"I know. That's exactly what Romero wanted."  
  
"What are you talking about? Why would he go to the effort of putting a harmless substance into her pocket when he could have put in the real thing?"  
  
"Because I still believe that my profile is basically correct. Romero doesn't want Olivia, and even if he had put plastic explosive in her pocket and detonated it, he couldn't guarantee that he'd get you with her. This isn't about a hit attempt."  
  
Elliot fought the urge to start yelling, because he knew that none of this was George's fault. "So enlighten me with your theory as to what it _was_ about."  
  
"Okay." George paused, gathering his thoughts. "Romero knows that you're too well protected for him to walk in the front door and hit you that way. He needs another approach. I'm guessing that if he's been a successful assassin for as long as we think he has, he's studied his share of psy-ops. He wants to wind everybody involved in this operation so tightly that someone snaps, makes a mistake, and creates a window of opportunity for him. So everyone working this needs to respond by somehow finding nerves of steel, and not letting Romero's mind games work. Of course, that's much easier said than done."  
  
"No kidding." Elliot looked toward Olivia, who sat quietly next to him, her hand still resting on his leg, her eyes bloodshot with exhaustion.  
  
"Do you want me to come over there and talk to you two?" asked George.  
  
"No. Definitely not," Elliot replied firmly. "I'd kick Liv out of here if I could, but you can guess how that's going. I don't need anybody else in the line of fire just because this guy wants to fuck with my head."  
  
"Fine," said George calmly. "But call me anytime. Seriously. And tell Olivia to do the same."  
  
"Thanks, George." Elliot clicked the phone off and turned to Olivia with a sarcastic grin. "Well, your box contained a very menacing glob of poster putty. George says the guy wants to rearrange our brains until we snap."  
  
"Well, I can't say that I find his strategy ineffective at the moment." She tried to smile.  
  
"Me, neither. But I guess we can at least stop hiding out in the basement now."  
  
"Okay." Olivia stood and began to walk up the stairs.  
  
"Hey Liv?"  
  
She turned, looking down at him several steps below her.  
  
"Is there any way I might get you to rethink last night's offer regarding the sleeping arrangements?"  
  
She studied him, his face a complex mixture of anxiety and hope, and wondered how they had arrived at this point. Where he could ask her to sleep with him, and she was actually nuts enough to consider saying yes. She thought about his face as she held that box in front of her, how much it had cost him not to cave in to his instincts and tackle her for it. She also knew that with every moment she spent in this house, with nothing to do but hang out with Elliot, she was falling harder and harder. It scared the hell out of her, but she was powerless to change it. Somewhere between the Gitano case and this moment, their relationship had taken on a life of its own, and they both seemed to be along for the ride. "Maybe," she replied with a teasing smile, then walked up the stairs without another word.


	6. Chapter 6

Elliot brushed his teeth, then washed his face with the coldest water he could get out of the tap. He pulled on a pair of boxers and an ancient t-shirt, unable to think of anything but what Olivia was doing downstairs. He could hear her moving around in the kitchen, then in the bathroom, and finally silence. When the silence stretched from seconds into minutes, he clicked off the bathroom light and walked out into the bedroom, assuming that she had opted for the couch. He pulled back the sheet and the comforter and crawled in slowly, surprised at how much the rapid movements of the last hour had reactivated his pain. The Percocet had taken the edge off, but he wouldn't be sleeping for awhile. He looked at the clock. 11:35.  
  
After staring into space for a few minutes, he picked up the remote and flipped on the TV, hoping he could find something that would make his mind stop going in circles, trying to figure out why Olivia had backed off again. He could still see the teasing grin on her face as she walked up the stairs. The intensity of his disappointment and the departure of his recent hit of adrenaline had combined to put him in an impressively crappy mood. He shook his head and focused on the screen. _Fear Factor_. Not a good option. He finally settled on Leno and leaned back into his pillows.  
  
When he'd been watching Jay for a good ten minutes, the creak of the stairs caught his attention. His heart sped up, and he felt his whole body tighten in anticipation. After another moment, Olivia appeared in the doorway, wearing a t-shirt and green flannel pajama pants. She paused, her hand against the doorframe, then asked uncertainly, "Can I come in?"  
  
Elliot laughed, amazed at how quickly her voice could make his anger and irritation evaporate. "I invited you." He reached out to pull down the bedding on the other side. She sat on the edge of the bed and looked at him, and he could tell that she was still on the fence about whether she'd made the right call. "I thought you'd decided to crash on the couch again," he said, trying unsuccessfully to keep his voice neutral.  
  
"I had. Made up the bed, got settled down, and after about three minutes I was walking up here. I can't seem to stay away from you today." She rubbed her arms briskly, looking vaguely embarrassed.  
  
"Stop trying. I've given up pretending I can keep my hands off you." He lifted the covers up for her. "It's cold, Liv. Get in. I promise to behave."  
  
"Like you have so much choice," she retorted. She climbed in and pulled the covers up under her arms, then rolled over to face him, pressing the side of her face into the pillow. She was pale from exhaustion and stress, and her expression was still a confused mixture of fear and anticipation. "Have we completely lost our minds?" She wiggled further under the covers.  
  
His voice came out tinged with anger, "Do you want to be here?"  
  
She didn't miss a beat. "Yes."  
  
He relaxed a little. "Okay. Then maybe for tonight, you could stop making a mental list of all the reasons why what we're doing here is a bad idea. And don't say you're not. I can see you doing it." He reached out and smoothed the back of his index finger over the inside of her upper arm. "I want you here. In bed. With me. If I didn't think I'd make you change your mind, I'd be a hell of a lot closer to you than I am right now." He pulled his hand back, once again giving her the choice.  
  
Her arm had goosebumps where he had just touched her. She pushed herself across the bed, closing the gap between them until most of her body was touching his. She slipped her leg over his thigh, and he felt himself harden before she even stopped moving. With her mouth so close to his that he could smell her toothpaste, she said, "Better?"  
  
He wanted nothing more than to tilt his head forward and put his mouth and hands all over her, but he ignored the wave of arousal and said quietly, "You're giving me mixed signals again."  
  
She pulled back, exhaling in frustration. "I know I am. It's not intentional. It's been awhile. . . ." She cut herself off, trying to rephrase. "I haven't slept in the same bed with someone for a long time."  
  
"Neither have I." He caught the shift in her expression and said immediately, "Will you let it go? Dani's never even been in this bed, and I didn't stay at her place. It wasn't like that. We. . ." He forced himself to deal with his discomfort over the subject matter and keep looking directly at Olivia. "We both knew that getting involved with each other was a mistake and it was over practically before it started. I told you. We joke about it now."  
  
She paused, trying to arrange her jumbled thoughts into sentence form. "You know what? I'm not being fair. I'm the one who walked out. Twice. I'll admit that I hate the thought of you sleeping with her, but now that I'm in bed with you, I should probably also admit that this kind of jealousy is new to me. It's embarrassing. It's so. . . .not my style. I just. . . part of me kinda hates her for getting you first." She looked down at the sheets, her fingers toying with the flannel seam.  
  
"Olivia."  
  
"What?" She didn't look up.  
  
He cupped her chin in the palm of his hand and tilted her face until her eyes met his. "She didn't _get_ me. I wasn't hers to get."  
  
Olivia's eyes widened, and she suddenly found it difficult to breathe. "What does that mean?" She threw her head back onto the pillow, still scanning his face intently.  
  
"It means that it's laughable for _you_ to be jealous of Dani." He reached for her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. He could feel her pulse in his fingertips. "It also means that I lied when I said I'd behave. I _really_ want to kiss you right now. And I'm going to unless you stop me." He leaned forward, pausing to give her the chance to object. When she just looked at him, eyes wide and shiny, he used the hand that wasn't holding hers to push her hair away from her neck, and putting his lips right against her throat, slowly kissed his way along her jaw, then across her cheekbone, over both eyelids, and down the other side of her face before he finally reached the edge of her mouth. When he moved over her, his side ached, but he just didn't care.  
  
He dropped kisses along her upper lip until she finally shifted against him and whispered, "Elliot." He pulled back for a minute, smoothing her hair away from her face and looking at her with such heat that she felt dizzy. He laced his other hand through hers, pinned her arms above her head, and stopped playing. Directly on top of her now, his body pressed her into the mattress, and his lips finally opened against hers. He stroked her bottom lip with his tongue, and if she hadn't been restrained by his weight on top of her, she would have sat up with the intensity of the sensation. He kissed her again and again, gently holding her hands, sometimes moving down to run his tongue along her collarbone or use it to draw circles in the hollow of her throat. She slid her legs apart and he settled between them, and although his boxers and her pajamas pants separated them, he couldn't keep himself from rocking against her. She instinctively reacted by arching up into him, and he pulled back, wincing in pain.  
  
Slipping one of her hands from his, she touched his face, her own cheeks reddening slightly. "Shit. I'm sorry. Forgot for a second."  
  
He rolled off of her onto his back, rubbing his face. "Not half as sorry as I am," he retorted, grinning. "Believe me, I forgot, too. Completely." He fell silent, breathing deeply to give his body a chance to calm down.  
  
"We're acting like teenagers in the back of a car." Olivia looked at the door. "Maybe I should go back downstairs."  
  
"No. Stay here." His voice softened. "Please." He paused. "Hey Liv?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"If my ribs weren't broken, would we be having sex right now?"  
  
She burst out laughing, partially because she was tense and overtired, and partially because having this type of conversation with him was still so strange. "God, yes. Where did you learn to do that thing with your tongue?"  
  
"Which thing?" he asked, his voice rough with frustration.  
  
"Forget it." She smiled, rolling onto her stomach and sliding her arms under the pillow. "It's probably better that we can't have sex right now anyway."  
  
"Why? You've decided it's fun to torture me?"  
  
"No, though that's always a bonus," she teased. Her expression sobered. "Shouldn't we be thinking about this more? My mind hasn't caught up with my body at all here. You put your hands on me, and everything else is just. . . gone."  
  
"You obviously have the same effect on me." He pushed himself up on one elbow to look at the clock. "Shit. It's after midnight. Go to sleep.  
  
"Sleepy isn't exactly how I'd describe myself at the moment," she replied sarcastically.  
  
"I'll rub your back."  
  
"That'll help. Didn't I just tell you what happens when you put your hands on me?"  
  
He laughed. "Just try it."  
  
When she said nothing, he slid his hand under her t-shirt and moved it in slow circles over the bare skin of her back. Olivia closed her eyes, trying to relax. His fingers felt so good against her skin, and although she couldn't deny that having Elliot's hand on her naked back was arousing, it was also strangely comforting. If she had been awake enough to concentrate, she would have found it odd that although her body was still vibrating from his kisses, she couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so safe. He leaned closer and touched his lips to her cheek, all the while continuing the rhythmic circles. She was asleep within minutes.  
  
________________  
  
Casey awoke suddenly from a disturbing dream involving animated M &Ms and something about a courtroom that changed location every time she tried to enter it. At first, she couldn't figure out what had rescued her from the quasi-nightmare, but after taking a moment to orient herself, she realized that someone was speaking into her answering machine and her cell phone was ringing. She grabbed the cell from her bed stand and mumbled, "Hello?" The voice on her answering machine fell silent.  
  
"Casey. It's Cragen. I need you to meet me at the federal courthouse in about an hour. I would have called earlier but we had a bit of a situation over here."  
  
"What's going on?" She glanced at the clock. "It's 2:30 a.m. Can't this wait until morning?" She'd been at work until after eleven, and had come home to discover nothing in the fridge except a container of shrimp fried rice without enough snow peas left to make it appetizing. All she wanted was to go back to sleep.  
  
"No. I'll fill you in on the details when you get to the courthouse. The brief version is that I've spent a minimum of three hours on the phone with DEA today, working out a deal to get this piece of crap off Elliot's ass. While SVU's been derailed by this thing with Elliot, DEA has pulled together enough evidence to go up against Sunhill, Brennan, & McGann. They want to bust in the front door first thing tomorrow, but I politely explained to them that since their impressive incompetence almost cost me one of my best cops, they owe us something. They've agreed to pick up McGann and offer him a deal if he can give us a way to locate Romero. I need you there to help us sweat him."  
  
Casey sighed, absently observing that her sleep shirt had a hole in it. "He'll lawyer up before I can finish a sentence, and then what do we do at 4 a.m.? Don't the feds want him all to themselves anyway?"  
  
Exasperated, Cragen said, "Just get down there. If he lawyers up, lunch is on me for a week."  
  
She looked at her watch, then wistfully at her pillow. "I'll be there in an hour."  
  
________________  
  
Elliot woke suddenly, a stabbing pain lancing through his side. He squinted to look at the digital readout of the clock on his dresser. 2:53. He realized that he'd rolled over onto his bad side, and sighed in frustration, wondering when he'd be able to sleep through an entire night again. He shifted to find a more comfortable position, smiling when his gaze landed on Olivia. She was deeply asleep, her arms hugging the pillow, her breathing quiet and even. He still couldn't quite believe that she'd taken him up on his proposition. Her face was soft and relaxed, and for probably the fifth time in the last twenty-four hours, it took all of his self-control not to touch her. He rearranged his pillow, moving quietly so he wouldn't wake her. Just as he was settling down again, trying to ignore the smell of Olivia's shampoo on his sheets, the phone rang, sounding unnaturally loud in the quiet darkness of his bedroom. He grabbed it off the bed stand, but not before Olivia sat upright, fully awake, her eyes dark with apprehension. He closed his hand over hers before speaking into the receiver.  
  
"Stabler."  
  
"It's Cragen. Get Olivia."  
  
"Why? It's the middle of the night."  
  
"And she usually works nine to five. Put her on the phone."  
  
Elliot covered the mouthpiece and said quietly. "It's Cragen." He handed her the receiver.  
  
She waited for a few beats to make it less apparent that she was maybe two feet away from Elliot, then cleared her throat and said, "Benson."  
  
"Get dressed and meet me outside. We've got a new plan with this Romero thing, courtesy of DEA. I'll fill you in on the way."  
  
She rubbed the back of her hand over her eyes. "A new plan that involves taking off at. . ." She looked at the clock. "2:58 a.m.?"  
  
"Yeah. So get down here in ten." He hung up before she could think of a smartassed reply.  
  
She threw the phone on the bed and glanced up at Elliot. "That was cryptic. I've got ten minutes to meet him out front. We're heading somewhere to do something about Romero."  
  
Elliot felt his whole body tighten again, the warm relaxation of five minutes before vaporized. "Great. Guess I'll go back to sitting here with my thumb up my ass and wait for your report." He couldn't keep the bitterness out of his tone, although he knew that none of this was her fault.  
  
Knowing that his anger wasn't directed at her, she ignored him and shoved back the covers. "I'd better head downstairs and get dressed. Cragen sounds like he's in a hurry." She walked to the doorway, then turned and said softly, "Are you okay?"  
  
He pushed himself off the bed and padded across the carpet to stand in front of her. "No. I fucking hate sitting here while you head out to do God knows what without me to back you up. It sucks." His fingers closed around her upper arms, and he smoothed his thumbs over her skin, but he didn't move toward her.  
  
"I know. I'm sorry. But maybe whatever Cragen's got going here will give us some forward movement. We're all tired of sitting around developing ulcers while we wait for Romero to do something. If Cragen's got a way to let us make the next move, it might switch things up."  
  
"Just be careful." He slid his hands down her arms and pressed her fingers gently before releasing her.  
  
"I will. But I'm not the one with the target on my back. Try to get some sleep. I'll see you in a few hours."  
  
She held his gaze for a few seconds, then surprised him by lightly touching her lips to his before she turned to walk down the stairs. He crawled into bed and clicked on the TV again, smiling when he realized that he could taste her chapstick.  
  
________________  
  
When they stepped off the elevator onto the fifth floor of the federal courthouse, it was almost 4 a.m. As she walked beside Cragen down the silent hallway, listening to the impact of their shoes on the carpet, Olivia found the atmosphere almost surreal, as if she were watching her herself on TV. However, any lingering tiredness had vanished, replaced by nerves and adrenaline now that Cragen had explained to her what they were trying to do. He stopped abruptly and knocked on a doorway to their left. After a beat, the door opened to reveal a short, dark-haired man in his mid-forties. He nodded to Cragen and Olivia. "I'm Thomas Kim, with the U.S. Attorney's office."  
  
"I'm Captain Don Cragen, and this is Olivia Benson. She'll be handling the interrogation from our end."  
  
Once the requisite handshakes were over, Kim said, "DEA has been babysitting McGann while we waited for you. He's pretty worked up about being pulled out of his condo in the middle of the night. Threatening all sort of legal action, that sort of thing." He paused. "Because SVU has the most at stake right now, my superiors have authorized me to let you take point on the interrogation. I'll go in with you to make sure nothing gets out of hand, but he's all yours unless I see a problem."  
  
There was another knock on the door. When Kim pulled it open, Casey walked in, looking tired and pissed. She nodded to him. "How are you, Thomas?"  
  
He smiled slightly. "Obviously better than you are, Casey. Good to see you."  
  
Casey smiled apologetically. "It's 4 a.m. and it took me forever to get a cab. Let's get this done." She turned toward Olivia. "You ready?"  
  
Olivia's jaw tightened. "Absolutely." She walked toward the interrogation room door with Kim and Casey following in her wake.  
  
_______________  
  
As soon as Olivia opened the door, Justin McGann was on his way out of his seat. "Who the fuck do you think you are? Was it your goons who pulled me out of bed in the middle of the night and dragged me down here without even telling me why? I want my fucking lawyer, and I want him now."  
  
Olivia walked slowly toward McGann, stopping a few inches away from his face. He was only an inch or so taller than she was, so her eyes met his easily. "Sit. Down." She stared at him, unmoving, until he realized that he wasn't going to win this one.   
  
He dropped back into the chair, and repeated, in a much less strident tone this time, "I want my lawyer."  
  
Olivia's voice was soft, but laced with barely suppressed anger. "I'm going to tell you what we want, and Ms. Novak will explain what we're willing to do for you in exchange. When we're done, you'll have your lawyer in five minutes if you think you still want him. DEA grabbed you in the middle of the night because even professional assassins have to sleep. If you call your five favorite lawyers, Romero will probably know your whereabouts within the hour. And when they show up, I'm sure we'll be forced to let you go."  
  
McGann's face whitened, but he just stared at her, so she continued. "As it stands, the feds have enough to indict you on an impressive list of charges, including drug trafficking, transporting minors across state lines, and at least three counts of accessory to murder. Ms. Novak has you for your role in the recent attempts on my partner's life."  
  
"I had nothing to do with that!" McGann burst out, slamming his fist into the arm of his chair.  
  
"Shut up. And let me finish." She walked to the end of the table and sat down, leaning back and regarding McGann icily before she resumed the conversation. "We're all sick of waiting for your friend Romero to try and drop my partner again. He's proven himself to be gifted at disappearing. Rather than waste everybody's time hunting down a man who's made covert operations an art form, and continuing to endanger Detective Stabler's life, we want you to contact Romero and lure him out so that we can have the upper hand for a change."  
  
McGann gave a harsh laugh. "You're insane. You think I want to be next on his list? Your partner must be a lucky son of a bitch. From what I understand, up until now, Romero's never failed an attempt. Not once. I don't care what you think you've got on me. There's no chance in hell you're going to convince me to do this. Besides, I've got no way to contact the guy. He made it crystal clear when we parted ways at the airport that he had work to do and didn't want to hear from me again." McGann took a sip from the plastic cup of water in front of him. "Don't you all have coffee in here? Or at least some Coke?" He regarded Olivia smugly, crossing his arms as if to indicate that the discussion was over.  
  
She leaned forward, anger rising off of her in waves. The pitch of her voice dropped even lower. "Do you actually think I'm falling for your line of crap? You can contact him. You may not have his home phone number, but you know how to reach him if necessary." She paused, looking up at Casey and Kim.  
  
The federal attorney stepped forward, his gaze almost as cold as Olivia's. "If you make it possible for us to contact Romero, I've been authorized to take accessory to murder off the table for you. We'll also offer you protection, before you start whining about how the Delgado cartel is going to whack you."  
  
Casey picked up where Kim left off. "If you give us nothing, and Detective Stabler dies, then everything is fair game. You'll be a four time cop killer. Then Mr. Kim and I can play rock paper scissors to determine who gets to execute you first." The DEA agent in the corner failed to suppress a snicker.  
  
McGann swallowed hard, looking from Casey to Olivia to Kim, as if maybe one of them might crack. When no one moved so much as an eyebrow, he put his head in his hands and rubbed his temples. "Okay. He gave me one phone number. But it's not a cell or anything. It's just an answering machine somewhere in Eastern Europe. He said not to call unless I had another business proposition. Apparently this hit on your guy is at the top of the cartel's list. I can't figure out why they don't want the chick more, since she's the one who wasted Martinez, but what do I know? Apparently it's bad form to survive a Delgado ordered hit. Detective Stabler's done it twice now, so my guess is these people are pissed."  
  
"Not half as pissed as I am," retorted Olivia, rising from her chair. "Write down the phone number. We'll be back in a second."  
  
She exited the interrogation room, followed quickly by Casey and Kim. Cragen stood outside, still looking through the two-way mirror. He gestured in McGann's direction. "Well, that was easy. Quite the tough guy."  
  
Casey grinned. "Olivia had _me_ scared in there."  
  
"You were pretty good, too," Olivia replied with a tense half-smile. "Rock paper scissors?"  
  
"I was improvising. It's 4:30 in the morning!"  
  
Cragen cut them off. "Enough with the back-patting. We're not done by a long shot. McGann says he'll help, but we need a foolproof plan that we can have in place within the next twenty-four hours." He paused, once again looking into the interrogation room, where McGann had taken to pacing back and forth, occasionally sipping at his now almost empty cup of water. The DEA agent in there with him wore an expression of barely suppressed amusement.  
  
Cragen was silent for several minutes. Olivia bit the inside of her lip to keep herself quiet while she waited. Finally, Cragen looked back toward her, Casey, and Kim, and said, his tone crisp and decisive, "Here's what we're gonna do."  
  
________________  
  
Olivia let herself into Elliot's house a little after six. As soon as she closed the door behind her, she smelled coffee. She hung up her coat, kicked off her shoes, and headed for the kitchen. Elliot was sitting at the table, coffee mug in hand, reading the paper.  
  
He stood up more quickly than he should have, his face relaxing into a smile. When he reached for her, she walked into his arms without hesitation, again surprised at how natural it was becoming to touch him. She could feel the tension draining away as his hands gently rubbed the small of her back. After he held her for a minute, he pulled back to look at her, his hands still on her waist. "Sit down and tell me what's going on. Although I probably don't really want to know, do I?"  
  
"Probably not," she replied. "Is there coffee left?"  
  
"Of course. I filled the pot. Figured we'd both be needing it." He reseated himself at the table.  
  
She opened the cupboard to pull out a mug, filled it, and sat down across from him. She would have done almost anything to avoid the next few minutes, because she knew that he'd probably lose it as soon as he heard Cragen's plan. But since she had no choice, she took a sip of coffee so large that it burned her tongue, swallowed quickly, and plunged in. "We didn't have any trouble ‘persuading' McGann to cooperate. I have no clue how he's managed to engage in his recent activities when he's such a complete candy-ass."  
  
She took another, smaller sip of coffee before going on. "After we glared at him menacingly for all of thirty seconds, he gave up a number for Romero. According to Cragen's grand plan, the operation goes down first thing tomorrow. McGann's going to call up Romero and set up another hit. Cragen will get someone downtown to fix some records so that it's easy to convince Romero that McGann has a gambling problem, and that he's in deep to some low-level bookie. Obviously Romero will check to make sure that there's no connection to what's going on here, but he won't be able to turn down the money McGann offers him for the hit. Cragen's working on the assumption that Romero needs some time to work out his next hit attempt on you anyway, and might be glad for the brief distraction of an easy mark."  
  
Elliot said nothing, which Olivia knew was a bad sign, but she had to tell him the whole story, so she pressed forward. "McGann will set up a meeting with this non-existent bookie, ostensibly for the purpose of McGann evening his debt. Of course McGann won't show up, but theoretically Romero will be waiting somewhere on the docks, where he'll be in position to cap our imaginary guy. We'll take him down there."  
  
"Piece of cake, huh?" Elliot retorted, his words laced with sarcasm.  
  
Olivia returned his gaze evenly. "We've got no choice. We have to get this guy off you. Do you want to sit in your house for the next six months?"  
  
"No. But you know what my next question is, and I'd sit in this fucking house for six years if I could change the answer."  
  
Her eyes stung and her chest hurt. _Why can you take me apart with a few words or one look? When did that happen?_ She cleared her throat. "I'll be going in right behind ATF. You know I have no choice. This is our case, and DEA has given us some serious leeway here. I can't sit this one out, and I don't want to. This asshole's goal in life is to kill you, Elliot. I want him dead."  
  
"And I want you alive," he shot back. "Do I get to sit here and have a spring water while all this goes down?"  
  
Olivia shook her head. "Cragen knows he can only push you so far. You'll be in the van, doing eyes and ears. So at least you'll be there. You can't do more than that anyway."  
  
"Thanks for the reminder." He stared at the table, his fist clenched, and she knew he really wanted to hit something.  
  
She sighed, knowing how powerless he felt, hating that she couldn't change it. "We'll have the element of surprise. Romero's just one guy, and we've got an entire team. It's a good plan."  
  
When Elliot spoke, his voice was unsteady. "Let's hope so. Otherwise I'll have the fun of watching while this guy caps you." He reached for both of her hands and squeezed so tightly that it almost hurt. They sat in silence for a long time, both of them sickeningly aware that for the moment, there was nothing left to say.  
  
________________  
  
Elliot and Olivia spent the rest of the day in a flurry of conference calls, working out the details of the next day's operation, discussing the plan from every angle, trying to be sure that their strategy was as foolproof as they could make it. Although Romero called to check the authenticity of McGann's alleged gambling problem, he did it from a throwaway cell phone that TARU couldn't trace. Romero did, however, accept the hit assignment, so if everything went according to the plan, he would be in place at the docks the following morning at 7 a.m.  
  
By ten that evening, the strain of the day's planning had enervated both Olivia and Elliot so completely that they were collapsed on opposite ends of the couch, each staring in the general direction of the television, which wasn't even on. After a few minutes, Elliot said quietly, "We should go to bed. We need whatever reserves we can get to make it through tomorrow morning." When Olivia didn't reply, he pushed himself off the couch and stood in front of her, extending his hands. "Come on. I'll even let you have the bathroom first."  
  
She got up and faced him, raising an eyebrow in surprise. "I thought maybe I'd be back to the couch because you're so pissed at me."  
  
He shook his head quickly, reaching out to smooth a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm not angry, Liv. I mean, I'm angry at the situation, but not at you. I wish I could be angry. It's easier. What I am is terrified. Watching you die six months ago would have been bad enough, but now. . . I don't know how. . . ." He turned away abruptly and walked up the stairs, leaving her to stare at the place where he'd been standing. After a few more moments of spacing out, she went into the kitchen, poured herself a glass of water, and went upstairs.  
  
________________  
  
Elliot was waiting for her in bed, and she didn't hesitate before crawling in this time. She stayed on her side of the bed, though, unsure of how to handle his current attitude. His eyes were red, and her stomach clenched when she realized that if he hadn't been crying, he'd been damn close.  
  
"I'm sorry," he said, his voice gravelly. "I know you're doing your job. I just want to be there to do it with you, and it's killing me that I can't."  
  
"No, it's okay." She reached out and rubbed her thumb across his cheek, which was rough after several days of not shaving.  
  
He took her hand and softly kissed the back of her fingers. "We need to try to sleep."  
  
"I don't know if I can. My mind won't shut off."  
  
"Mine either. Roll over."  
  
She looked at him uncertainly, but rolled to her side, facing away from him. A moment later she felt him pressed against the back of her body, head to foot. His arm pulled her closer, and he slipped one hand under her t-shirt to rest on her stomach. She could feel his heart beating against her back and his breath in her hair.   
  
He put his lips next to her ear. "Can you sleep like this?"  
  
She smiled in the darkness. "Doesn't matter. Don't move." She closed her eyes, wondering if she'd get the chance to spend another night like this with him, one where the sensation of falling asleep in his arms wasn't overshadowed by paralyzing fear of the next day's events. A tense silence fell between them, and while neither of them spoke, it was hours before they finally fell asleep, still tangled together under the covers.  
  
________________  
  
Olivia woke to the sound of the alarm, and for one blissful moment, she didn't yet remember what they were about to do. Then it all came flooding back, and her stomach began to hurt. She rolled over to face Elliot and found his eyes already on her.  
  
He leaned in to kiss her quickly, and then said, his voice tight, "It's time to go."


	7. Chapter 7

At 5:03 a.m., Elliot was already filling his coffee mug for the second time. He'd set the alarm for 4:30, figuring that they had enough stress without being rushed. He swallowed a mouthful of his drink, then dropped two pieces of bread into the toaster. Upstairs, he heard the faucet squeak as Olivia turned off the shower. As he stood there, staring at the reflective silver of the toaster, he thought about last night. Olivia's body flush against his, his mouth touching the back of her neck. The smooth skin of her stomach beneath his hands. He had to admit that he could get used to it. Easily.  
  
The click of the toast popping up snapped him back into the present. He pulled the butter from the fridge and tried to stop thinking about all the things that might happen in the next few hours. Before he could even get the butter to the edges of the bread, Olivia walked into the kitchen, wearing jeans and a shirt he was sure she'd chosen because it would fit comfortably under her Kevlar vest. Her hair was still damp from the shower, and Elliot found himself thinking of the way her shampoo smelled on his pillow. She put her hand against his lower back for just a moment, then poured herself a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter, sipping her drink.  
  
"I made toast. You want a piece?" For some reason, his voice sounded unnaturally loud to him.  
  
She shook her head. "No. Thanks."  
  
He shot her a look. "You know the drill. Don't make me give you the ‘you need to eat something' speech. I don't do it as well as Cragen."  
  
Her mouth turned up slightly at the edges. "Well, if my last experience at forcing breakfast down myself is any indication, it's probably not worth bothering." She listened to the birds outside the window, annoyed by the fact that she had been awake before they were. "Maybe I'll try some cereal."  
  
He nodded his head in the direction of the cupboard to her left. "There's probably Froot Loops in there."  
  
"Froot Loops?"  
  
"They're Kathleen's favorite. I got used to eating them when the kids were here, so I still buy them once in awhile." When he caught her amused expression, he said defensively, "What's wrong with them?"  
  
"Nothing! Just haven't had a bowl of Froot Loops recently." She opened the cupboard and took out the box, then grabbed a bowl and filled it with the colorful circles. When she had located a spoon and pulled the milk out of the fridge, she sat down at the table.  
  
Elliot took his coffee and his plate of toast and sat across from her, observing that she seemed unusually interested in her coffee cup. "Why are we sitting here talking about breakfast cereal?"  
  
She finally raised her eyes and looked directly into his. "Because I don't know what to say to you about this morning. I can't change the fact that you're angry and frustrated, that you can't go and I have to. Froot Loops seemed like a nice safe topic." She put a large spoonful into her mouth. A tiny drip of milk slid down her chin, and she quickly reached for a napkin to wipe it away.  
  
He watched her, sitting at his table with damp, uncombed hair and no makeup, eating kids' breakfast cereal, and wondered how, after months of evasion, they'd gotten here so quickly. Before he could stop himself, he asked quietly, "So if by some miracle we both manage to live through this morning, what happens next?"  
  
She swallowed her bite of cereal and said, confused, "What do you mean?"  
  
"I mean that if I hadn't wound up ‘circling the drain' in ICU, I doubt you would have been sleeping in my bed last night."  
  
She scanned his face, her eyes dark and serious. "You think I'm gonna back off again once we get Romero." He noticed that she didn't say "if."  
  
"Thought crossed my mind, yeah." He poured some milk into his coffee and stirred it, his spoon clinking against the edges of the mug.  
  
"I never apologized, did I? Not really." Her voice was soft. Sad.  
  
"Apologized for what?"  
  
"Leaving. Twice." She paused. "I'm sorry."  
  
"Apology accepted. And you're not the only one, you know. I never apologized for anything. Like the fact that I alternately ignored you or treated you like crap for months. Or the fact that I took it out on you whenever my personal life turned into even more shit." He swallowed another large sip of coffee. "I'm sorry, too. I halfway wouldn't blame you if you did take off again once we tie this up. I'm no prize."  
  
She wasn't sure where she got the courage to say what came out of her mouth next. "You're you. That's enough." She toyed with her spoon, still uncertain. "I told you I'm not good at this, and I'm not predicting how it will turn out. But I wouldn't risk the one constant in my life if I didn't think we had a chance of making this work. It doesn't matter how we got here. We did. And I'm not running. I'm in."  
  
Despite the circumstances, he couldn't help the smile that crept over his face. "So am I."  
  
She held her coffee in both hands as she sipped it, smiling almost mischievously. "Okay then."  
  
________________  
  
At 5:32 a.m., Olivia was brushing her teeth when her cell phone rang. She spit the last of the toothpaste into the sink, flipped open the phone, and punched the talk button with her thumb. "Benson."  
  
"It's Cragen. Everything's set to go. We're pulling the van into the garage now. Meet us out there and we'll do the final briefing on the way. Let's get this done." He disconnected without saying goodbye.  
  
She wiped her mouth on a towel and turned to find Elliot standing six inches from the doorway. All morning she'd been wishing that she could look anywhere but at him, but she knew that once they walked out the door, all the walls had to go back up. She forced herself to look directly into his eyes as she spoke. "That was Cragen. They're waiting in the garage." She shifted on her feet, already wishing that she hadn't eaten the damn Froot Loops.  
  
Elliot's voice was tight, and she could both hear and feel his barely controlled anger. "Let me grab my jacket in case I get chilly while I'm sitting on my ass in the van." He walked over to the closet and pulled out his coat.   
  
He followed her toward the garage door in silence. As she reached for the doorknob, his hand closed over her wrist. "Liv. Wait." His gentle tug on her arm pulled her around to face him.  
  
"What?" _Don't do this, Elliot. I can't break right now_. She could hear the van's engine humming on the other side of the door.  
  
He stood staring at her, the atmosphere thick with the weight of everything left unsaid between them.  
  
She moved to draw her arm from his hand. "We need to go. Everyone's waiting on us."  
  
He tightened his grip slightly and she stopped pulling away. "I know. It's just. . . " He swallowed. _I love you_. The words that appeared in his mind surprised him as much as they would have surprised her had he said them aloud, but he closed his mouth against the taste of them. What he wanted more than anything was for this day to end with her standing exactly where she was now, right in front of him, still breathing. He didn't need to screw with her head by laying this on her before they headed out the door to confront Romero.   
  
He dropped her wrist, took her face in his hands, and pressed his forehead against hers. His voice was rough. "Be careful. Don't make me do what you had to do in the hospital. Or worse."  
  
Her throat was so tight that her words came out in a whisper. "You know I'll be careful. I just want this guy off you." She took his hands in hers, holding them so tightly that it almost hurt. After a few more seconds of silence, she let go, then kissed him twice, her lips warm and soft on his. Turning abruptly, she opened the door and walked toward the van. Her heels clicked against the cement. Elliot followed, his whole body aching in a way that he knew couldn't be blamed on his injuries alone.  
  
________________  
  
Inside the van sat Cragen, Munch, Fin, and three people Elliot had never seen before. Cragen didn't even bother with greetings before he launched into terse introductions. "These are my detectives, Olivia Benson and Elliot Stabler." Nodding toward a man and a woman already outfitted in dark navy ATF uniforms, he said, "Agents Colson and Matthias. They'll be going in ahead of us. We've got an FBI van meeting us at the scene." He gestured toward the slight man in the driver's seat. "This is Agent Spencer. He'll be doing surveillance in the van with us." When everyone had given the obligatory courteous nods, Spencer put the van into reverse, backing out of the garage.  
  
Cragen paused as if someone might be inclined to say something. When no one did, he cleared his throat and continued. "Okay, here's the plan. The feds have had electronic surveillance on the docks all night, and they know Romero's location. Thermal imaging shows him concealed under a tarp on a roof overlooking the docks. They've been doing HVAC renovations on the building, so there's all sorts of crap up there to help him blend in. The docks are obviously busy at this time of the morning, which Romero probably plans to use to his advantage. From his perspective, once he takes his shot, he can use the confusion to get out before anyone finds him."  
  
"You'll go in from the back of the building. The architectural plans show a stairway up to the roof's access door. We're working on the assumption that you'll have the element of surprise, but that doesn't make the situation any less dangerous when you're dealing with someone like Romero. So everybody wears a camera and mic, and a crapload of body armor. If everything goes well, we can take this guy down in about five minutes. Any questions?" No one responded. "Okay then," said Cragen.  
  
 _If everything goes well_. Elliot's hands balled into fists. He concentrated on breathing normally. While he wanted to look at Olivia, he didn't bother, because he knew she'd be looking anywhere but at him. So he stared at the hem of her jeans, his eyes tracking over the little white stitches, one by one.  
  
As he listened to the hum of the tires on the road, the familiar sounds of traffic around him, he thought about the strangeness of time. He knew that logically, each second, minute, hour, was precisely the same length as the next. But in this particular moment, that idea was meaningless. From one perspective, time seemed to be moving in slow motion, as if each click on his watch took hours and this day would never be over. From another angle, it seemed as if time was hurtling forward at uncontrollable speed, everything rushing toward the moment when Olivia would step out of the van, covered with Kevlar and armed to the hilt, and he'd have to watch her walk away from him.  
  
________________  
  
The van slowed to a stop. Spencer put it in park and pulled on the emergency brake. He walked to the back of the van and flipped open a large metal box. Pulling out several sets of FBI issue ‘eyes and ears,' he handed one each to Olivia, Fin, Munch, Colson, and Matthias. "We tested these already this morning, but put them on and let me get a baseline so I know I'm reading everybody."  
  
Elliot watched, his jaw set, as Olivia pulled on the headset and adjusted it carefully. After a minute, she stopped messing with the mic and reached behind her for her vest, sliding her arms into it. The sound of the zipper made Elliot want to punch someone. He sat uncharacteristically still, feeling pissed off and powerless.  
  
Spencer had seated himself in front of the twelve small TV displays that decorated the left rear section of the van. He gestured to Olivia. "Look at your partner for a minute so I can get a reading here." He fiddled with the knob on one of the small screens in front of him.  
  
Olivia shifted her gaze and looked at Elliot for the first time since they'd climbed into the van. Her eyes were glassy, her face much whiter than normal. Their eyes locked, and Olivia almost flinched at the intensity of Elliot's expression. She would have given anything to be able to speak out loud, but since she couldn't, she tried the nonverbal approach. _I'll be okay. Just another hour and we'll celebrate with your first Coke_. She forced a smile.  
  
Spencer said, "Say something, Detective Benson."  
  
Olivia swallowed and shot back, "Can we get the hell out of here?"  
  
Spencer grinned. "In a second. Your equipment's fine."  
  
In the general commotion while Spencer gave everyone else orders and continued to check equipment, Elliot rose and moved over next to Olivia. In a voice so soft that even she could barely hear him, he said, "Check your weapon one more time." When she looked at him like he was nuts, he murmured, "Humor me."  
  
She snapped out her clip, checked it over, and smacked it back into place. "It's fine. I've got my backup, too."  
  
Elliot nodded and stood, allowing the back of his hand to brush against her arm. She felt the goosebumps rise, and wondered absently if they were because of Elliot or the fact that she was minutes away from trying to take down a professional assassin. She suddenly realized that the van had gone silent, which meant that Spencer's equipment checks were finished.  
  
Cragen's voice echoed through the cramped van. "We're as ready as we're going to get. Let's do this. The FBI van is on the left side of the building; we don't want to attract unnecessary attention. You need to get inside as quickly as possible. You'll meet the second team on the top floor, and then go up the stairs by twos. Colson and Matthias will take point. Benson, you'll follow them with one of the FBI guys. Munch. Fin. You'll bring up the rear behind the other FBI teams. I'll be in the van, monitoring with Spencer and Stabler. Everybody got it?" Again, he took the silence as assent. "Watch your backs then and remember who we're dealing with. Good luck. Go."  
  
Colson opened the back door of the van and jumped out, followed by Matthias. Olivia's mouth felt like cotton as she rose to follow them. She shot one last look at Elliot, who was gazing at her in a way that made her hope Cragen's attention was focused elsewhere. She turned away and jumped from the back of the van, jogging quickly behind the ATF agents.  
  
After Munch and Fin had exited the van, Spencer walked a few paces and leaned forward to pull the rear doors shut. Elliot watched Olivia's back as the doors moved together, quickly restricting his field of vision. There was a sickening click as they closed, and she was gone.  
  
________________  
  
Inside the building, Olivia felt sweat sliding in droplets down her back, occasionally soaking into her shirt where the vest pressed against her. When they met at the rendezvous point, she gave a curt nod to the FBI agent who led the other squad. No one said anything; they had moved to hand signals only. Once everyone was in place, Colson indicated that safeties should come off, and quiet clicks could be heard down the line. Olivia wiped her palms on her jeans before placing her hands firmly on the handle of her weapon.  
  
The group walked silently down a hallway toward the staircase that, according to FBI intelligence, led to Romero. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Colson halted everyone for a second, then signaled for them to head up in pairs. He and Matthias walked silently up the stairs, and Olivia followed next to the FBI agent who was apparently her partner for the time being. His nametag read "Martin." Her heart slammed annoyingly in her chest, and she tried not to think about the look in Elliot's eyes as they had stood outside the garage door before leaving. _Focus, goddamnit_. She forced herself into fully automatic mode, shutting off everything except the current moment. If she were lucky, in two minutes it would be over.  
  
________________  
  
Elliot sat in the van, his gaze fixed on only one of the twelve screens in front of them, although all of the screens were active. He could see the back of Colson and Matthias's heads, a side shot of the FBI agent next to Olivia, and the edges of the stairs as she walked up. The mic was so sensitive and the silence around her so complete that he could hear her breathing. He found this oddly comforting, although there was no reason that she shouldn't be breathing. Yet. He cursed inside his head but sat unmoving, barely blinking as he watched the screen.  
  
________________  
  
Inside the building, they reached the top of the stairs, and just like that, the waiting was over. Colson gave the signal that he was going to kick the door in, and all of the sudden, everything switched to slow motion. The sound of Colson's boot hitting the door was followed by a sinister pop. Colson and Matthias both flew backward and slightly to the left, Colson's body almost colliding with Olivia before he hit the stairs. She felt something spray her face, realizing seconds later that it was blood.  
  
________________  
  
Elliot flinched as he heard the pop, because his time in the Marines had taught him what that sound meant. When a splatter of blood hit Olivia's camera, he instinctively held his breath as he watched the now-distorted image on her screen. But she was still upright and within seconds, the camera moved forward again, so he knew that the blast hadn't gotten her. He also knew that with Colson and Matthias down, Olivia would be the first person to walk through the door. Cragen stood silently behind him, because there was nothing to say.  
  
________________  
  
Olivia took the last two stairs as fast as she could, although she had to move to the right to get past the bodies of the ATF agents. Martin was a few inches behind her when she stepped onto the roof, holding her gun in front of her. The element of surprise must have had some effect, because Romero was still in the process of turning to respond to the incursion. He had a knife in one hand and a semi-automatic in the other. Olivia adjusted her aim, but before she could pull the trigger, the knife streaked across the room and at least five rounds exploded from Romero's gun.  
  
________________  
  
In the van, Elliot sat absolutely still, watching in silent horror the now-blurry images that unfolded in front of him. He saw the knife flying toward Olivia, and watched the flash as the semi-automatic went off repeatedly. The instant the knife disappeared from view, Olivia's camera angle changed abruptly, and Elliot found himself looking up at the sky and some metal air conditioning ducts. He heard a deafening volley of gunfire, and switched his gaze to the other cameras to see what was going on. Romero was already on the floor, and Elliot's eyes bounced from screen to screen as several of the cameras moved cautiously toward Romero's body. The moment a camera stopped on Romero, Elliot knew that it was over. He had at least five holes in his chest, one in his forehead, and one below his left eye. Blood pooled in an expanding ring on the floor, and Elliot heard a female voice say, "He's dead. Check the perimeter."  
  
All that penetrated his consciousness was that while eight cameras shifted here and there, four of them weren't moving. Colson's. Matthias's. Martin's. And Olivia's.  
  
Another disembodied voice, this one male, said, "Colson and Martin are dead. Matthias is still alive, but she's unconscious. Her pulse is weak and I'm sure she has internal injuries. The lady cop caught a knife in the thigh."  
  
Elliot's stood up suddenly, knocking over the chair he'd been sitting on. His breath caught as he put his hand to his side, and his voice shook. "I'm going in there."  
  
"Just hold on for one damn second." Cragen turned to Spencer. "We've got the all clear. Get the medics in there. Now."  
  
As he was speaking, Olivia's face came into view on Fin's camera. He leaned over her. "Liv. Are you alright? Sorry it took us a second - we were makin' sure we'd tripped the only booby trap." Fin's camera scanned her body, stopping when he reached the knife embedded in her upper thigh.  
  
"I could do without the knife in my leg, but yeah. I'm okay."  
  
Elliot felt himself start breathing again when he heard her voice.  
  
"I'm gonna help you sit up." Fin was reaching for her shoulders when a hand came down on his arm with surprising force.  
  
One of the FBI agents from the second squad said firmly, "Don't. The knife's next to her femoral artery. If he nicked it, she'll bleed out if you pull the knife out or let her move. It could be nothing, but wait for the medics."  
  
Elliot threw open the back doors of the van, splinting his side when the rapid movement again reminded him of his injured ribs. He jumped down, then turned to Cragen. "Don't even try to talk me out of this. The shooting's over. If Olivia's gonna bleed to death in there, she's not gonna do it while I'm sitting in this fucking van."  
  
"Fine," replied Cragen, his face tight with worry. "Go."


	8. Chapter 8

Olivia lay unnaturally still on the cement, almost afraid to breathe now that she'd heard the FBI agent's words. Other members of the assault team moved about, occasionally speaking into their mics, checking the roof to be sure that they hadn't missed anything. Romero had surprised everyone with the IED, and although the initial flurry of activity was over, everyone remained hyper-alert. The icy cold of the cement was beginning to penetrate Olivia's clothing where her body touched the floor. The outdoor temperature couldn't have been above 45 degrees, and it occurred to her that before long, she might start shivering, which would tense the muscles in her thighs. _Shit_.  
  
A cell phone rang a few yards away from her head, and she heard the click of the phone flipping open. "Munch." He was silent for a few beats, then said quietly, "Tell them we need them here _now_." He hung up and walked into her field of vision, squatting beside her. "The EMTs are on their way. How are you holding up?"  
  
She shifted her eyes to look at him, trying to keep things light. "I'd rather be having a cappuccino, but I'm okay." She didn't want to be talking to Munch. She wanted Elliot, with an intensity that would have irritated and humiliated her if she hadn't been halfway convinced that she might not make it off this roof. She reminded herself that he'd stayed in the van for a reason, that the EMTs would probably get here before Elliot could even if he wanted to. She reminded herself that if the knife had nicked her in an artery, she'd be bleeding worse than she was now. In all likelihood, they'd pull the thing out, slap on a bandage, and she'd be fine. But as she lay there, growing colder and more unnerved by the second, none of her rationalizations mattered. She wanted Elliot.  
  
And then, as if she'd conjured him with the power of her thoughts, she heard his voice. "I'm her fucking partner!" She knew he was pausing to flash his badge. "Get the hell out of my way."  
  
She couldn't hear the words of the FBI agent's muttered apology, but she caught the tone. Footsteps hit the cement in rapid succession, and then he was kneeling beside her, his expression a strange combination of panic and relief. She bit into her lip to stop the tears, but her eyes filled anyway. She couldn't move to wipe them away, and one streaked down the side of her face.  
  
Before it reached her hairline, Elliot brushed it away with his thumb. She cleared her throat tentatively and said, her voice shaky, "Knock if off. You'll make it worse." She could hear the banging as the EMTs hauled their equipment up the stairs. "Shit that knife hurts."  
  
Elliot shot her a look. _You're so full of crap_. "Yeah, I'll bet that's it."  
  
Trying to smile, she admitted quietly, "I'm glad you're here."  
  
He had to remind himself that he shouldn't touch her. "So am I." His eyes held hers. _Relax. Everything's fine_.  
  
The EMTs came through the doorway, carrying a board and a couple of tackle boxes. The one in the lead stood at Olivia's feet as he addressed her. "My name's Wagner. We need to get you on this board without moving your body a millimeter more than we have to. I'm sure it sounds impossible, but the best thing you can do to help us is relax.  
  
She nodded slightly. "Okay."  
  
Elliot stepped back as Wagner and another guy put the board directly beside Olivia's body. By leaning her slightly to the side, they managed to slide the board under her, then tightened the straps beneath her arms, over her stomach, and at her ankles. When he had checked the straps twice, Wagner said, "We're going to lift you up now and take you out to the bus. We've got a portable ultrasound in there. It should only take a couple minutes to figure out whether you're headed for the ER or you just need a really big band-aid."  
  
________________  
  
Inside the ambulance, Olivia listened to the rapid-fire click of the keyboard as one of the female EMTs typed information into the ultrasound machine. After a few seconds, the young woman turned around. "I'm Gina. I have to cut open pretty much the whole leg of your jeans, because the transducer only works on bare skin and I need room to maneuver. Do you want your partner to wait outside?"  
  
"No. It's fine."  
  
"Okay. This will only take a second." Gina pulled a pair of surgical scissors from a drawer and sliced through the denim fabric. Olivia felt the cool air hit her inner thigh and tried not to tense up. Gina moved the transducer slowly around the embedded knife. The vehicle became eerily silent, as the seconds stretched into minutes. Olivia stared at the ceiling, vacillating between anger and fear, hating the knowledge that for the moment, she was the victim. She looked toward Elliot, who sat inches away from her with his hands clenched into fists, his face almost grey. She could hear the morning bustle of the docks outside, but inside there was only the quiet hum of the equipment, punctuated by the intermittent static of the two-way radio.  
  
Finally Gina leaned back, her face relaxing into a grin. "You're fine. That knife is maybe an inch away from your artery, but that's far enough. All it got is muscle. We can pull it out, bandage you, and spare you the hospital, unless you'd feel better if we took you to be checked out."  
  
"No." The word came out in a whisper, and she swallowed, trying to regain control of her voice. "I just want to get out of here." She looked at Elliot again. Some color had returned to his face, but his eyes were red-rimmed and shiny. He let out a long breath and unclenched his hands.  
  
Gina reached for a large bottle of antiseptic. "We're going to toast your outfit, because we have to minimize the possibility of infection. You'll need to see a doctor within a few days for a follow up. Check your stitches, that sort of thing." She squirted the cool yellow liquid all over Olivia's leg, but this time Olivia didn't worry when her muscles contracted.  
  
"I'm going to pull the knife out now. This is the worst part. All downhill from here." Olivia pressed her lips together. Elliot moved even closer to her, and both of his hands closed over her fingers. She instinctively squeezed as Gina swiftly withdrew the blade from her leg.  
  
________________  
  
Half an hour later, stitched up and beginning to feel the effects of the pain medication, her mangled jeans held together with surgical tape, Olivia walked slowly beside Elliot toward the van where Cragen, Munch and Fin were waiting for them. Elliot pulled open the door and they both stepped in.  
  
"Quite a morning." Cragen handed Olivia a bottle of water. "You're okay?"  
  
She sat down, twisted the cap off, and took a long drink. "Yeah. It's fine. I had a tetanus shot about a year ago after I got cut jumping that stupid fence on the Morris case. I just have to follow up with my doctor next week."  
  
Elliot sank onto the seat beside her, strangely quiet, as he had been since they went into the ambulance.  
  
Cragen's voice cut through the expanding silence. "Elliot. I just got off the phone with DEA. The latest assessment is that, at least for the moment, you're safe. No one in the Delgado cartel could know that Romero is dead yet. There's no way we can keep this out of the press with two dead federal agents in the mix, but DEA can stonewall for a few hours in order to give us some breathing room. They need to chat with their agents in Mexico to determine that the cartel won't send someone else once they figure out what's gone down. So you're still in lockdown. But I doubt it will last long." He stopped, taking in Elliot's uncharacteristic silence. "You sure you're okay with all this?"  
  
Elliot's eyes refocused on Cragen; it was clear that he'd been somewhere else entirely. "Yeah. I'm fine. Tired."  
  
Cragen looked skeptical, but continued anyway. "Okay. You and Olivia go home for the rest of the day. Let me hassle DEA until I get a more complete picture. I'll call you when I know more. Munch. Fin. Head back to the station, but unless there's something that we absolutely can't avoid doing, I think everyone could use a breather. We're not helping anyone by stretching ourselves to the breaking point. We've all had better mornings."  
  
No one responded. Cragen walked to the back of the van and opened the doors. "I'll get one of the FBI guys to drive you two back to Elliot's house. Take care of yourself, Olivia. I know this didn't turn out like we wanted it to, but everybody did good work today."  
  
Munch squeezed Olivia's shoulder as he went by, and Fin dropped a hand on her arm. "Glad you're okay."  
  
She felt the tears threatening again, and wondered when and if life would finally resume enough normalcy that she could stop to have a cup of coffee. "Thanks Fin," she managed, smiling halfheartedly.  
  
He jumped out of the van. A second later, an FBI agent opened the front door and hopped into the driver's seat. He glanced at Elliot and Olivia in the rearview mirror. "You two ready? Where am I going?"  
  
Realizing that Elliot wasn't going to speak, Olivia said quickly, "Queens. Let's get out of here."  
  
Their anonymous driver revved the engine and pulled the van into drive. As the vehicle accelerated, Olivia looked at Elliot. He sat, hands on his knees, looking at the cheap blue indoor/outdoor carpeting on the floor. She wanted to touch him, ask him what he was thinking, but it was the wrong place, and his stance wasn't inviting. She leaned back and looked out the window, resigned to driving in silence.  
  
________________  
  
Elliot walked into the house ahead of Olivia, and went straight into the kitchen. She could hear him pulling a glass from the cupboard and pouring some water. He still hadn't said a word to her since they'd left the ambulance, and his silence unsettled her more each second. She slipped off her coat and hung it up slowly, trying to work out the best way to handle his attitude. The rules that had once so clearly defined the boundaries between them had been rewritten over the past few days, but neither of them had learned to navigate the new system.  
  
Elliot had emerged from the kitchen by the time she kicked off her shoes. He sank onto the couch, rubbed his hands over his face, and leaned back into the cushions, closing his eyes. She almost walked over to join him, but then, realizing that she was still wearing shredded jeans and half a bottle of Betadine, she said quietly, "I'm gonna go upstairs and take a shower. I'll be back in a few minutes."  
  
He finally opened his eyes and looked at her. "Okay. I just need a second here."  
  
She swallowed, fighting back the urge to force conversation. "I know."  
  
________________  
  
Twenty minutes later, Olivia walked back down the stairs, wearing beat-up jeans and a turtleneck. She glanced at her watch. 10:15. It didn't seem possible that only three hours had passed since she'd walked through that door onto the roof. Elliot didn't appear to have moved, and she walked over to him, tentatively standing in front of the couch, between his feet. He looked up, eyes red, his face streaked with tears. She knelt in front of him, her own heartbeat echoing in her ears. "I need you to talk to me. Please."  
  
He brushed the back of his hand over his eyes, and said, his voice gravelly. "I'm not sure what to say. You almost died. Because of me. What would I do with that? I begged you to leave. You wouldn't listen. And if that fuckhead's aim had been a couple centimeters more accurate, we wouldn't be having this conversation." He reached for her hands, rubbing his thumbs across the back of her fingers.  
  
"Nothing happened. I'm fine. I'm right here."  
  
"You have a three-inch hole in your leg."  
  
"That barely hurts because of the wonderful narcotics. It's not a big deal. We've been through stuff like this before."  
  
"You know that's not true," he said quietly. "Nothing's the same. It's all so out of control. And I don't mean this morning's shootout." He paused, uncertain. "Can you come up here?"  
  
She stood slowly, then settled herself next to him on the couch. He noticed that while she was close, she left several inches between them, as if she wanted to leave him room to say what he needed to say.  
  
The room fell silent, save the hum of the refrigerator drifting in from the kitchen. Elliot knew that she wouldn't speak first, and he struggled to pull all the random fragments floating through his mind into some sort of coherent order. The silence was so complete that he could hear her breathing, and it struck him that he could spend the rest of his life sitting next to her on a couch without ever being able to explain what they were to each other. How was it that her physical presence could make him feel like an idiot teenager on a first date, but at the same time there was no one else in the world with whom he was more comfortable sitting in silence?  
  
He rested his hand on her thigh, and because he knew that eventually he'd have to say something, asked quietly, "You know how you said that Kathy leaving messed up the balance between us?"  
  
"Yeah. It did."  
  
He turned his head to study her. "When I was sitting in that van today, supposedly working, do you know what I was doing?"  
  
She smiled ruefully. "Watching my screen?"  
  
He nodded. "The only one I watched. Until you went down." He reached for her hand. "That wasn't me doing my job, looking out for my partner and my coworkers. That was me watching _you_. The same thing that happened in the bus terminal, that happened to you in the warehouse. Only until today, I thought I could change it, get control over it. But I can't."  
  
She returned his gaze, and when she spoke, her voice was both sad and unsure. "Do you want to go back?  
  
"No." His hand tightened on hers. "But my point is that it doesn't matter. I've spent two years trying to pretend that I have a choice. I don't."  
  
"Thanks," she responded dryly. "That's flattering."  
  
His voice was rough when he answered. "You know what I'm saying, Liv. If you want hearts and flowers, you've got the wrong guy."  
  
"No," she whispered. "I don't. But this has nothing to do with right or wrong." She looked down at his fingers in hers. For a moment, her mind drifted back to a time when the word ‘complicated' had meant something entirely different to her, when their relationship had been so comfortable, so effortless. All the times she'd sat next to him in some crappy Ford, staring out the window and talking about anything. Or nothing. All the times she'd looked at him across her desk at 3 a.m., and he'd gotten up to bring her coffee even though she hadn't said a word. She missed the simplicity that she once took for granted. But as she sat there with her heart beating faster at the thought of what she was about to do, she knew that even if going back were possible, she'd made her choice long ago. Long before she realized there was a choice to make.  
  
Turning as quickly as her leg would allow, she settled in his lap, straddling him. Despite the circumstances, biology took over, and he felt himself harden inside his jeans. He could smell the skin on her throat, the leftover scent of his own shower gel that she must have borrowed, and her nearness made it hard for him to breathe. He didn't know what he was going to say until the words were gone. "I want to touch you."  
  
She leaned even closer, her lips inches from his. "Then touch me."  
  
His hand slid under her turtleneck, his fingers moving softly across the naked skin of her back. "I don't want to stop this time."  
  
"So we won't stop." She put her lips to his neck, gently kissing her way down to the muscles of his shoulder.  
  
He pulled his hand out of her shirt and caught her wrists. "Liv. You have a knife wound in your leg and I have two broken ribs. We can do this another time. I don't want to hurt you."  
  
She leaned back, tracing her thumb over his lower lip. "We'll go slow." Her voice was teasing. " _Really_ slow. I'll tell you if you're hurting me."  
  
He swallowed, the temptation of her in his lap rapidly becoming too much to resist.  
  
She rested her forehead on his. "I'm so sick of waiting. We both know we're going to do this. It can be now, tomorrow, next week, next year, whatever. But we're going to do it. And I want to do it now."  
  
In response, he put his lips to hers, no preamble this time. She breathed in as he kissed her, the taste of him making her lightheaded. When his tongue touched hers, she felt hot and cold all over. She opened her mouth, just wanting more. His hand slid under her shirt again, this time wandering around to the front. He smoothed the back of his index finger over the curve of her breast, stopping to rub it in circles against her nipple. After a second, he replaced the finger with the pad of his thumb, and she exhaled sharply.  
  
He pulled back. "What's wrong?"  
  
She smiled, trying to look at him without feeling almost shy. "Nothing. I just want. . . " She cut herself off, frustrated. After a pause, she reached for the hem of her turtleneck, but he stopped her.  
  
"We're in the middle of one of my top three fantasies right now. Let me do it."  
  
She raised her arms for him and he pulled the shirt over her head, stopping for a moment to look at her before he reached behind her, unhooked her bra, and slipped it off her arms. Stroking his hand across her breast, he brought his thumb back to her nipple. "Better?" he asked with a grin, trying to ignore the fact that he was so hard the pressure of his jeans was beginning to hurt.  
  
She opened her mouth to answer him, but when he leaned forward and took her other nipple in his mouth, whatever she had been going to say became irrelevant. She couldn't remember ever wanting to come as badly as she did right now, and he had barely started touching her. She tugged his shirt up, her fingers digging into the muscles of his back. He pulled away from her long enough to let her slip his shirt off and toss it on the floor. When he leaned forward to take her into his mouth again, she put her hand on his chest and murmured, "Too many clothes."  
  
He grinned, feeling as if he'd entered an alternate reality. She stood up and he followed, leaning in to kiss her as he undid the button of her jeans. He knelt as he slipped them down, careful not to press against the bandage on her thigh. When she'd stepped out of her jeans, she reached for him, but he caught her hips and held her still. "You're not naked yet." He slipped his fingers under the elastic of her panties, amazed that she could make cream-colored cotton erotic. Dropping them to her ankles, he rested his head on her stomach, holding her still for a moment, enjoying the warmth of her hands in his hair. He rubbed his palm in lazy circles on the inside of her uninjured thigh, gradually moving higher. When he reached her center, he moved to slip a finger inside her, stopping suddenly when he felt her hand on his wrist.  
  
"Don't."  
  
He moved his hand instantly and stood up, his face reflecting both confusion and desire. He had backed off several inches, but she closed the gap between them quickly, saying softly, "I don't think you know how worked up you've got me here. If you touch me like that, I'm gonna come in about three seconds."  
  
He relaxed, his hands touching her waist and sliding up to stroke her shoulder blades. "So what?"  
  
She bit her lip, trying to decide how to answer him.  
  
He touched her cheek. "Just tell me what you're thinking."  
  
"We only get to do this for the first time once. And the first time, I want to come with you inside me. If I can manage to hold out that long." She looked down, embarrassed by her own honesty.  
  
He gave her a second, then tilted her chin up. "We'll slow down then. I want what you want."  
  
She reached for the button of his jeans, opening it before slowly undoing his zipper. He realized that he was holding his breath and exhaled, wondering if a person could go insane with anticipation. She pushed his jeans and boxers down, moving back fractionally so that he could step out of them. When they were both completely naked, she leaned in and trailed her hand up the inside of his thigh. He caught it before she could get any further. "Uh, we're kinda in the same boat here."  
  
"Sorry." She smiled, giving him a gentle shove toward the couch. He sat down, staring at her as she moved into his lap again. She bent to kiss him and he opened his mouth to her. She tasted faintly of coffee and mint chapstick, and he knew that he'd never again breathe in that combination without his body reacting. Each time her tongue touched his, or she sucked gently on his lower lip, the kisses became deeper and more intense. One of his hands pressed against her lower back, while the other held the nape of her neck, his fingers moving through her hair. They were so lost in what they were doing that when the need to get closer to him made her lean forward instinctively, he was inside her before either of them could stop themselves.  
  
"Shit." His fingers dug into her hips. "Don't move."  
  
"Am I hurting you?" Her face was suddenly concerned.  
  
He wanted to laugh, but thought even that might drive him over the edge. He breathed in and said, his voice rough with tension, "Quite the opposite."  
  
"Okay." She sat still against him, aching to move, loving the feel of him inside her. Their eyes locked, and she knew, in that moment, that no matter what happened between them, no one else would ever make her feel like this. No one else could make her want something this badly. No one else could make her trust enough to let herself fall.  
  
Watching her try to keep still, feeling himself hard inside of her, almost unbearably turned on, it occurred to Elliot that for all the times he'd imagined variations on this moment, he'd never thought he'd want to take time and wind it backward. Slow it down to a place where the sensation of being with her, touching her this way, didn't have to end. If someone had asked him to describe how he felt holding her, hot and trembling in his arms, he couldn't have done it. How can you put into words the moment when you realize that the person you held partially responsible for taking your life apart is actually the one who has spent the past two years helping you put yourself back together, piece by piece? He heard her voice, and wondered how he ever could have contemplated his life without that sound.  
  
"Elliot, I can't stay still anymore. It's. . . " She broke off, her breathing erratic. "It's too much. I need to move."  
  
He rubbed his hand over her lower back. "Go ahead. I'm good now." He drew her toward him until their entire bodies were touching, and put his lips against the hollow of her throat. She arched forward, rocking against him in almost slow motion, afraid of hurting his ribs. Against her skin he murmured, "You don't have to be that gentle. Let go."  
  
His words undid her. She felt herself falling, and she closed her eyes against the rush of heat that washed over her, sliding up her spine and down her thighs. When she came, her body shaking in his lap, her head pressed against his shoulder, she breathed in the smell of his skin and thought, for the first time, that she might have been wrong. Maybe none of this was so complicated after all. Maybe it was unbelievably simple.  
  
She felt so good that she didn't want to move, but she finally lifted her head and looked at Elliot. He smoothed her damp hair away from her forehead and kissed her shoulder. When he raised his eyes again, they were warm and relaxed, but his body vibrated with unreleased tension. She put her mouth against his ear, and he could feel her smiling. "Your turn."  
  
He paused for a second, and when he spoke, his voice was tight with desire. "I wanted to feel you first." The words had barely left his mouth before he caught her hips and pressed up into her. The force of his movement made her thigh ache, but the pain barely registered. Within three strokes his fingers tightened on her back and he breathed her name against her throat. She felt him inside her, warm, pulsing, so alive, and realized that if things had turned out differently on that beach, she never would have known.  
  
She didn't know how long they stayed that way before she finally said, her voice muffled against his neck, "We're going to ruin the couch if we don't move."  
  
His laugh vibrated against her chest. "You have no idea how much I don't care." He rubbed his palms lightly up and down the back of her arms. She relaxed against him, content and sleepy. His fingers moved softly over her back, and she murmured, "Could you do that for four hours?"  
  
He was about to answer her when the phone rang. "You've got to be fucking kidding me." He exhaled loudly. It rang again as Olivia hurriedly disentangled herself from him, searching through the pile of discarded clothes in an attempt to find her underwear. Elliot couldn't suppress a smile as he reached behind him for the cordless.  
  
"Stabler." _This had better be so fucking unbelievably good_.  
  
"It's Cragen. I know I said you two should take the day off, but we just found Justin McGann dead in his apartment. They're testing the slugs now, but crime scene says there's a good chance this is Romero's work. I need you and Olivia to come over here to help us sift through things. Casey obviously doesn't need to worry about this guy now, but whatever you find will help her with the ongoing case against Sunhill and Brennan."  
  
Olivia, who was now wearing jeans and a bra, threw Elliot's boxers at him. They hit him in the stomach, and he fought to pull his attention away from her long enough to answer Cragen. "What happened to my status as the guy with the target on his back?"  
  
Cragen sounded even crankier than usual. "Do you think I'd ask you to come down here if I thought you were going to get your ass shot off? I've talked to DEA, and you're no longer a target. I'll explain when you get here. "  
  
Elliot's shirt smacked him on the arm. "Fine. We're on our way." He disconnected and looked up at Olivia, who had finally found her turtleneck and was fully dressed, regarding him with a raised eyebrow.  
  
"You probably shouldn't show up at a crime scene wearing that outfit."  
  
He stood up and walked toward her, holding his boxers in one hand and his shirt in the other. "Throw a few more clothes at me and I'll be fully dressed." He pulled her toward him, kissing her forehead and her cheek, and she let him hold her for a minute before she dropped a kiss on his chest and pushed him away.  
  
She walked toward the door, searching for her shoes. Over her shoulder, she said, "You know, if we plan to do this again, you're gonna have to get used to being interrupted. Comes with the job description. And it could have been worse. He could have called five minutes earlier."  
  
________________  
  
Justin McGann's apartment smelled like expensive cologne, fresh paint, and blood. Elliot and Olivia stepped past the uniform at the door and took in the pricey surroundings - the carefully selected paintings, the marble floor in the entryway, the cathedral ceilings. Munch and Fin looked up from their conversation with one of the crime scene guys.  
  
"You finally decide to get off your ass and do some work?" asked Fin with a smile, strolling across the room.  
  
"Didn't have a choice," retorted Elliot, nodding his head toward Cragen, who was kneeling next to Justin McGann's body. He rose when he saw that Elliot and Olivia had arrived.  
  
"He has a single gunshot wound to the head. Warner's already been here. She estimates the time of death to be between midnight and 6 a.m. If this is Romero's work, he must have done it before he set up at the docks."  
  
Olivia glanced at McGann's body, lifeless in blue silk pajamas, sprawled against the blood-spattered chair. "Why would Romero kill McGann? He obviously didn't find out that the fake hit was a setup. McGann's paying him, and doing lucrative business with the Delgado cartel. So why the hole in his head?"  
  
Cragen gestured toward his detectives. "Let's talk in the kitchen." They moved away from the usual buzz surrounding a fresh crime scene, and reconvened in Justin McGann's kitchen. Olivia noticed that every surface was irritatingly shiny.  
  
When he was sure they had relative privacy, Cragen spoke quietly. "The story from DEA is confusing, and I'll be talking to them again when we're done here in order to clarify a few things. Their version is that McGann isn't dead because of anything related to our sting. He's dead because the Delgado cartel just outed a DEA mole in their organization, and McGann's the one who originally vouched for the guy."  
  
Elliot shook his head. "But if Romero had already done McGann, why was he on the docks at all? His employer's dead. Why risk the exposure of another hit?"  
  
Cragen gave a grim smile. "I asked George the same thing. Apparently, Romero is the kind of guy who takes his job seriously and believes in doing what he's been paid to do. From his perspective, McGann gave him the money, so he had to follow through."  
  
Elliot grinned darkly. The cumulative stress of the past few days and his interrupted encounter with Olivia conspired to make things seem funnier than they actually were. "That's just. . . fucked up. An assassin with an honor code."  
  
"Wait a second," said Munch. "I thought the U.S. Attorney's office was protecting McGann as part of the plea deal. How'd he get whacked so quickly under federal protection?"  
  
"One wonders," retorted Cragen. "Again, I won't know the whole story until I spend a lot more phone time with DEA, but apparently Romero took an apartment in McGann's building long before we arranged our pseudo-hit. It's one floor below, and crime scene is looking into it right now. It's probable that Romero was set to hit McGann from the moment they stepped off the plane. Romero was quite the disguise master, and the feds hadn't gotten through their check of the building tenants before this went down.  
  
"The good news," Cragen continued, "is that this DEA mole had risen quite high within the Delgado organization. He was pulled before they could kill him, but in that world, news of something like that spreads quickly. The Delgado cartel has enough to deal with now, with an internal power vacuum and the major hit their reputation has taken, which makes other organizations more willing to move against them. The side effect of all this is that Elliot is apparently off the hook, and no longer on anyone's hit list. They have better things to worry about. I've contacted Dani to let her know, and she'll be back tomorrow."  
  
Elliot glanced at Olivia, and she held his gaze for a beat, trying to convey what circumstances prevented her from saying out loud. _It's okay. I'm over it_. He kept looking at her until she realized that she was getting warmer, and turned her eyes, suddenly fascinated by McGann's stovetop.  
  
Cragen glanced back and forth between them, absorbing the fact that Olivia seemed a bit flushed and Elliot looked as if he was thinking about anything but the McGann case. He cleared his throat. "So. We need to comb this place for any evidence that can help either Casey or the U.S. Attorney's office with their prosecution against Sunhill, Brennan, and several of the other lawyers who are suspected of involvement with the drug smuggling. Elliot, you start reading the files in McGann's office. That way you won't have to move much. No one leaves until it's done. Let's get to it."   
  
________________  
  
At 10:30 p.m., Elliot and Olivia finally dragged themselves through the front door of his house. It was strange, driving up to find nothing more than a normal street. No cop cars. No circulating helicopters. No uniforms with assault rifles. Just the late-evening quiet of a suburban neighborhood.  
  
Elliot shut the door behind him and took Olivia's coat as she shrugged out of it. "Go sit down. You're beat." He reached into the closet for a hanger.  
  
"And you're not?" Olivia rubbed her neck, trying to massage away the last two weeks. "I'm cold. I need coffee. You want some?"  
  
"Definitely." He walked up behind her, sliding his arms around her waist and touching his lips to her neck. "You want me to make it?"  
  
Turning in his arms, she said, her voice teasing, "You can stop being nice to me just because I slept with you."   
  
"Shit. Thought I might get lucky." He put his hands on her face, drawing her toward him. His lips brushed hers, softly at first, but within three seconds the temperature had risen by ten degrees and his tongue was stroking over her upper lip.  
  
She let herself get lost for a moment, then drew back an inch or so, smirking. "Trust me. If earlier was any indication of what I have to look forward to, you don't even have to be that nice to me to get lucky." She kissed his jaw. "Didn't you say something in the car about wanting to change your clothes?"  
  
"I did. I'm gonna shower and then we'll have coffee." He released her and walked to the stairs. On the bottom step, he turned, "Oh, Liv?"  
  
"Yeah?" She pulled the coffee can from the cupboard.  
  
"Almost forgot. Your cell's beeping like you've missed a call or someone left a message. I heard it when I was hanging up your coat."  
  
She searched through a drawer for the coffee scoop and then looked up. "That's weird. I had it with me." She shrugged. "I'll check." He nodded and walked upstairs.  
  
Olivia crossed the living room, opened the closet, and chose the wrong coat pocket first before finally locating her cell phone. The display read, "2 missed calls. 1 new voicemail message." She hit the button to dial voicemail as she headed back to the kitchen for the coffee that she still so desperately wanted. Just as she opened the coffee can to discover that it was completely empty, a familiar voice began to speak on her cell. "Hi Olivia. This is Alex Rodriguez from the Phoenix field office. I'm calling because a Special Agent position has unexpectedly come open out here, and Agent Klein was so pleased with your work with us that he'd like you to seriously consider the job. We'll gladly pay to fly you out here if you'd like to talk more about it. Please contact me as soon as possible. 602-279-5511. Thanks."  
  
She closed the phone, wondering if life could get any more bizarre this week, then mentally taking it back, because of course it could. She _really_ wanted that cup of coffee now. Maybe Elliot had some hot chocolate. She began to bang the cupboards open and shut, growing increasingly irritated when she failed to find any variety of hot beverage. She suddenly turned to find Elliot behind her, wearing sweats and a long-sleeved t-shirt.  
  
"Damn. Who was on the phone? And why are you assaulting my cupboards?"  
  
"You're out of coffee." Her voice sounded more pissed off than she had intended.  
  
"Yeah? I thought there was another can in there. Sorry. I'll hit the store if you want it that much. I'm allowed out now." When she didn't crack a smile, his face sobered. "This isn't about coffee, is it?"  
  
She turned to face him. "The message was from the Phoenix field office. They want to give me a job. Special Agent."  
  
Elliot's stomach twisted sickeningly. At least twelve different responses collided with one another inside his head, but what came out of his mouth was, "Are you going to take it?"  
  
"No! Why would I?" Puzzled by his reaction, she studied his face, now several shades paler than usual.  
  
"Because it's a good job. Probably with great pay. And a hundred percent less baggage than what you deal with here on a daily basis." His voice sounded funny to him, so he swallowed.  
  
"You're saying you want me to take it?" Her guard was up again, and he hated himself for making that happen.  
  
It would have been so easy for him to deflect her question with sarcasm. Years of practice had made it second nature, but the look on her face told him that one wrong word right now could easily break the fragile trust they'd managed to put back together over the past two weeks. So he went with brutal honesty. "No. I want you to turn it down so bad it hurts. But shit, Olivia. I royally fucked up the only long-term relationship I've ever had. So it strikes me as selfish to ask you to stay here, when there's no way I can promise that I won't fuck this up, too."  
  
The guarded expression vanished, and her eyes were warm again. "I don't want to take the job, Elliot. And I don't need you to promise me anything. As long as I know that you want _me_ , we're fine."  
  
"I can't imagine wanting anyone else." His voice was almost inaudible.  
  
She wasn't sure that words would work right now, so she closed the distance between them, touched her lips softly to his, and wrapped her arms around his neck. His arms tightened almost painfully across her back. After a minute, she said lightly, "So will you help me find a fucking hot drink here?"  
  
He cleared his throat. "Yeah. Um, I swear the kids left some of those flavored hot chocolate things when they came last Christmas." He peered into a cupboard by the sink, moving aside several boxes of crackers and cereal. "Here we go. You want chocolate raspberry, double Dutch chocolate, chocolate mint, or chocolate caramel?"  
  
Olivia made a face. "They all sound equally disgusting." She grabbed a pan and began to fill it with water. "I guess raspberry." He dropped the raspberry and mint packets on the counter beside her, then pulled out a chair and sat down. Olivia took a couple mugs out of the dishwasher that no one had yet had the chance to unload, ripped open the raspberry packet, and dumped its sugary contents into the cup. She had torn open the other packet and was just tipping it into the mug when she heard Elliot's voice.  
  
"I love you."  
  
Half the contents of the packet landed on the counter before she put it down and swung around to face him, her eyes wide. Her throat had closed, but she opened her mouth to speak anyway. She hadn't yet managed to make a sound when Elliot held up his hand.  
  
"Don't. Whatever you're going to say, don't say it."  
  
"Why?" she whispered, her hands clutching the counter behind her as she leaned into it.  
  
"Because I didn't say it so that you'd say it back. I've been wanting to say it ever since we were standing outside the garage door this morning. But I didn't want to mess with your head."  
  
"You think it doesn't mess with my head now?" Her eyes were shiny as she looked at him.  
  
"I wasn't trying to," he answered honestly.  
  
She watched him silently for a full minute, her concentration broken only when she heard the water on the stove boiling over. She pulled the pan off and filled both mugs with hot water. With one in each hand, she walked toward the table. "You can have the raspberry if you want, since I kinda screwed up the other one."  
  
Elliot grinned. "Nah. You drink the raspberry. This crap is probably better diluted anyway."  
  
She settled in the chair across from him, absorbing the quiet. Lifting her mug, she took a small sip. It was almost as bad as she had expected, but at least it was hot. Elliot just watched her, hands around his mug, elbows resting on the table. After another sip, larger this time, she set her mug down and rubbed her hands over her eyes. "Wow," she exhaled softly.  
  
Elliot swallowed his mouthful of cocoa and put his mug on the table. "Wow what?"  
  
"I don't know. Everything. The past two weeks have just been. . . " She broke off. "I think I need a year to process."  
  
He reached across the table and closed his fingers over her hand, saying nothing. They sat that way for a long time, sipping hot chocolate, until she finally looked at him and said, her voice low and unbelievably sexy, "Let's go to bed."  
  
"Good idea." He stood up and reached for her mug. "Go ahead. I'm just gonna rinse this stuff out and check the doors. Then I'll be up."  
  
"Okay." She walked to the bottom of the stairs and stopped, her hand on the railing. Her face was lit with an expression he'd never seen before.  
  
"What?" he asked, looking at her as he rinsed the chocolate sludge out of her cup.  
  
"Nothing." She smiled. "I'll see you in a minute." Trailing her hand along the banister, she disappeared up the stairs.  
  
________________  
  
Ever since his first conversation with Olivia after he woke up in that hospital room, Elliot had been trying to account for the feeling that something fundamental in his life had shifted, that something about his relationship to the world was unalterably different. And suddenly, as he stood there in the doorway of his bedroom, watching Olivia channel surf on his television, he understood what had changed. For the better part of two years, he'd been subconsciously waiting. Waiting for something to happen that would restore the sense of balance his life had held until Kathy walked out and everything fell apart. Waiting for the uncontrollable anger to go away. Waiting to stop feeling that his life had become little more than an exercise in guessing what might be the next thing he could manage to lose.  
  
Olivia clicked off the television, tossed the remote on the bed, and looked up at him. "Hey." She grinned, her eyes lit up, her expression one he couldn't have imagined her directing at him even a week ago. "You joining me?"  
  
He pulled off his t-shirt as he walked toward the bed, and although he smiled at her, he didn't trust himself to speak.  
  
It wasn't complicated. He loved her, with all the shifting meanings that word held for them. And for the first time in years, he wasn't waiting anymore.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final two chapters take place six months after Chapter 8.

Olivia woke slowly from a sleep so deep that it resembled a coma. A faint beeping, insistent and irritating, seemed to come from far away. As she tried to orient herself enough to label the source of the noise, the sound stopped abruptly, and a warm hand slipped under her t-shirt, gently rubbing her back.  
  
"Liv." Elliot spoke softly. "You've gotta get up." He moved his hand to smooth her hair. "I'm sorry. I know you feel like shit. Do you want to call Cragen?"  
  
"No," she groaned into the pillow. "Just one more snooze."  
  
Elliot laughed. "You've already hit it three times. It's 7:30."  
  
She rolled over, rubbing her fingers over her eyes. "Shit. Why didn't you get me up?" She peered at the clock in a vain attempt to prove him wrong. 7:29.  
  
"Because you're sick, you're exhausted, and there's no reason you still can't make it on time if you haul your ass into the shower. I'll go make coffee, okay?"  
  
She studied his face for a second, taking in the redness of his eyes, the pallor of his skin, the fact that he obviously hadn't shaved in at least three days. "What time did you get home?"  
  
He grimaced. "You don't want to know."  
  
"I do," she retorted insistently, in a tone he knew better than to fight.  
  
"A few minutes before four." He smiled lightly, attempting to lessen the impact of his words.  
  
"You know we can't keep doing this," she said quietly, sitting up and reaching for his hand.  
  
"We won't," he replied, squeezing her fingers softly. "I go and do this idiotic undercover thing at two, and we're done. Now get in the shower before I drag you in there. You don't need Cragen in one of his moods when you already feel like crap." He released her hands and moved his to her waist, pushing the t-shirt aside as his fingers wandered slowly up her ribcage. He kissed the side of her neck, his breath warm on her pulse point, and she had to smile at the fact that he could make her shiver, even though she had a brutal cold complete with fever and they'd both spent the past two weeks working 16-20 hour days. She idly tried to remember the last time they'd had sex.  
  
When his fingers reached the edge of her breast, she gave him a playful shove. Crawling out from under the sheet, she said with a smile, "If you wanted sex before coffee, you really picked the wrong woman."  
  
"I know," he answered, deadpan. "I'm gonna find a new one as soon as I convince you to get in the shower."  
  
She raised an eyebrow and walked toward the dresser, rummaging around until she found her bra. She turned toward Elliot and said, "Thanks for letting me sleep. Tonight I swear we're both going to bed at eight. I'll see you downstairs in a minute." She started toward the bathroom, then swung back around. "Will you please stick three Advil by my coffee? My head is killing me."  
  
"Way ahead of you," he replied quietly, his expression laced with concern.  
  
She stared at him for a moment, wondering how he did that - when he had developed the ability to halfway read her mind. "Thank you." Her voice was soft and hoarse from the recent bouts of coughing.  
  
He shrugged helplessly. "It's the only thing I can do. You should take some time off, and you know it."  
  
"I can't," she said firmly. "Like you said, we're almost done." She gave a weak smile and disappeared into the bathroom. Elliot stared for a minute, noticing that she hadn't even closed the door all the way. The fact that they'd been sleeping together for six months still didn't prevent him from having the occasional moment of awe that Olivia, a woman who had spent her entire life putting up walls and guarding everything, was every day relaxing her defenses and opening herself up in a way that he hadn't believed possible. He rubbed his face briskly to pull himself out of his reverie, and walked downstairs to brew the coffee he had promised.  
  
________________  
  
Olivia adjusted the water temperature to be a shade colder than she normally liked it, both in an attempt to fight her fever and to wake herself up. The last two weeks had passed for her in a haze of exhaustion, sickness, and nonstop work. Everyone in the unit had devoted themselves to an operation to bring down a man running a computer service that hooked up pedophiles with just slightly underage boys. Both SVU and computer crimes had people on the case around the clock, and they'd finally gotten a break. At 2 p.m. today, Elliot, posing as a prospective "buyer," was going to meet with the middleman who arranged the actual trysts.  
  
She turned the water hotter when she suddenly found herself shivering. Reaching for her shampoo, she smiled at the tableau of various his and hers cleansing products. Her shampoo next to his. Her moisturizing soap next to the pine-scented shower gel he'd probably deny using if anybody at the precinct found out. She looked down at the square of terrycloth in her hand and realized that if she wasn't mistaken, they were actually sharing a washcloth this week. For some reason it struck her as unreasonably funny that their lives had become intertwined enough that they were each too lazy to pull open the linen closet and grab a fresh cloth. Somewhere along the way it had ceased to matter.  
  
Neither of them had admitted it yet, but they were living together. Her clothes were next to Elliot's in his closet and she had her own designated drawers. Her Frosted Mini-Wheats sat next to the Froot Loops and Cheerios in his cupboard. The mineral water she loved and he hated filled up a shelf in the door of his fridge. She still had her apartment, but she slept there maybe once every two weeks. When she did, she woke up constantly, not worried or afraid, but unsettled and even vaguely embarrassed by the degree to which she'd become accustomed to Elliot's presence in bed. Even after six months, she had moments of paralyzing doubt about whether she'd ever be the type of woman who could pull this off.  
  
At the 1-6, their relationship had become the secret that everyone knew. No one discussed or even joked about it, but sometimes Cragen unexpectedly shook things up by assigning Olivia or Elliot to work with Munch or Fin, and every now and then, someone couldn't prevent a telltale smirk from flitting across his face, an expression quickly replaced with one of blank innocence.  
  
Olivia abruptly realized she'd been standing there so long that her water was beginning to cool, so she rinsed the last of the shampoo from her hair and rolled her neck in circles, trying to work up the courage to face this day that she wished would end before it started.  
  
________________  
  
Elliot was pouring himself a cup of coffee when Olivia walked into the kitchen. "Shower help at all?"  
  
She sat down and gave him a tired smile. "A little. I'm conscious now." She felt an odd warmth in her chest as she noticed three Advil in a haphazard triangle next to her mug. She took a long swallow of her coffee, enjoying the way the steaming liquid temporarily soothed her aching throat. "You ready for this undercover thing?"  
  
Elliot grinned. "Ready to have it done. Everyone at the precinct, including you, is having a little too much fun with my cover story. Besides, my guess is that this is going to be the biggest non-event ever. If I can't get anything out of the guy, I arrest him. Then everybody can go home." He took a bite of his toast and washed it down with a swallow of orange juice.  
  
Olivia looked at him mischievously. "You did hear about Matthews over at the 2-4, right?"  
  
Elliot's eyes narrowed. "No. What?"  
  
"A couple months ago, she went into this undercover she thought would be a cakewalk. A few surprises and she wound up getting shot in the ass, sitting on one of those butt donuts for a month." She took another swallow of coffee and quirked an eyebrow at him.  
  
"Will you shut up? You're not improving my mood." He tried to look annoyed, but the evil spark in her eyes and her teasing smile made it impossible. Pondering whether he had always been such a complete sucker, he rubbed his finger over an invisible spot on the table and said, to change the subject, "You remember we've got that thing with Kathleen's boyfriend's parents Saturday night?"  
  
Olivia's expression immediately morphed into one of obvious discomfort. Her voice was quiet and hoarse. "Um, are you sure I couldn't just plead sickness? Kathy's going to be there." She fiddled with the crust of the toast in front of her, looking at the shadings of the table's wood grain.  
  
Elliot leaned back, frustrated, "Yes, Kathy's going to be there. And she's an adult. So are we. She knows what's going on, Liv. So do the kids. They come here every Friday night and you fall asleep while we're watching bad movies. Are you under the impression they think that at midnight, when they go to bed, you sneak back home and magically reappear for coffee at seven?"  
  
A slight flush rose in Olivia's cheeks. "No." She bit into her toast, listening to the rhythmic swish of the dishwasher. "But this thing with Kathleen is the first time I'll have to be an active participant with Kathy right there."  
  
Elliot smoothed his index finger over her upturned palm. "And I'm sure it will be unbelievably awkward. But unless you're planning on dumping my ass within the next week or two, it has to be done." Her face softened, and she fixed him with that look that made him want to forget all about work, kids, embarrassing undercover assignments, awkward ex-wife encounters, and just take her upstairs and crawl inside her for the next three hours.   
  
"Okay. But don't be surprised if I just stand there and drink too much wine. I have no idea what to say to Kathy."  
  
"So talk to the kids." Elliot drew her hand toward his lips and kissed it, pulling her index finger into his mouth just long enough to get her attention.  
  
She yanked her hand away, laughing. "Cut it out. I'm sick!"  
  
"Maybe. But you still want it." He shot her a self-assured grin.  
  
"Asshole." She stood, walked to the sink, and opened the cupboard above it to pull out a travel mug. "I'd better take off before we both wind up at the precinct within five minutes of each other.  
  
Elliot scoffed. "Yeah. Because then everyone might think we're fucking."  
  
She rolled her eyes and kissed him gently, her tongue just touching his lower lip, before pulling on her jacket and heading outside, shutting the door behind her.  
  
________________  
  
Elliot walked into the precinct a little after nine, carrying a cardboard tray of coffee in each hand. He glanced at Fin, who was hunched moodily over his computer. "Did you go home last night?" asked Elliot, loosening the tie that was already beginning to annoy him. He handed a cup of coffee across the desk to Olivia, holding her eyes for a beat longer than he should have. She looked away first, pretending to be engrossed in the file open before her.  
  
"What for?" Fin retorted, leaning back to lace his fingers behind his head and stretch. "I caught a nap in the crib and came back down here at 5:30." He accepted the coffee Elliot held toward him. "George will be here any minute with his updated profile. Everything's a go for your undercover. I know how much you're lookin' forward to it." Fin smirked as he took a sip of coffee and turned back to the computer.  
  
Glaring, Elliot dropped into his chair just as George pushed open the double doors. Cragen emerged from his office at the same time, instantly all business. "Okay people. Let's get this briefing done." He glanced at George. "So what do we know about this Destler guy? Or whatever his real name is."  
  
George leaned against the edge of Fin's desk, toying with the pen in his right hand. "I have to start by saying that a profile created from the small amount of information we have on this man is tricky at best. I've done what I can, but I guarantee there are gaps, and I can't say with certainty that even what I've got is entirely accurate."  
  
Cragen coughed, unsuccessfully trying to suppress his irritation. "That's all very helpful, but just give us what you've got. We have about four hours to prep for this operation."  
  
George gave a half-smile, accustomed to Cragen's attitude. "Okay. Destler is probably in his late 30s to mid 40s, white, unmarried, and unemployed, at least in the traditional sense. It's my impression from the online posts I've read that he hasn't been very successful in life, but that it bothers him less than it would most people. In other words, he's destined to be the middleman and not the boss, but he's fine with that arrangement. He doesn't crave power or want to be the man in charge." George reached for the coffee cup on the desk beside him and took a long swallow before continuing. "I don't get the feeling that he's violent, although I doubt he's opposed to violence if circumstances require it. And I get the strong sense that he might have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. He probably collects something with near religious fervor. Stamps, coins, something like that." George paused, waiting for someone to ask a question.  
  
After a beat, Elliot said, "I need to make sure not to piss this guy off. What's the best way to avoid that?"  
  
"If we don't wanna piss him off, why the hell are we sendin' you?" Fin mumbled under his breath.  
  
George ignored him and looked thoughtfully at the floor for a few moments before glancing back at Elliot. "Any suggestion that he isn't competent, that he's in some way failing his boss, would probably push his buttons. He takes a lot of pride in being on top of every small detail."  
  
Elliot glanced at Olivia, who was sucking on a cough drop, her brow slightly wrinkled. Silence fell in the squad room, broken only by the bubbling sound of the coffeemaker brewing another pot. Cragen finally broke it by standing to walk back into his office. "We head out at one then." He shot Elliot a look. "Give that last set of messages one more read-through before we go, okay?"  
  
"Yeah." Elliot settled himself at his desk, picking up the inch-thick Destler file and opening it for what had to be the hundredth time in the past two weeks. Across the desk, he could hear Olivia's cough drop clicking against her teeth. Their eyes met for no more than a second, but that's all it took for him to read at least three different things into her expression. Fear, even though logic said the situation wasn't likely to be dangerous. Exhaustion. But foremost, anticipation. Of being done with this seemingly never-ending case. Of having dinner together, at home, instead of eating shitty takeout at 11 p.m. Of going to bed. Together. At the same time. Of being able to get back to a "normal" life, whatever that was for them. Olivia smiled just enough for him to see, then returned to the file in front of her, instantly absorbed.  
  
________________  
  
"I can't believe you guys are gonna sit out here eating Chinese food while I'm in there pretending to be some freak pedophile." Elliot popped the clip out of his weapon, inspected it, then slapped it back in, looking up at Cragen.  
  
"We missed lunch," Cragen responded dryly. "I promise to put down my chopsticks if someone starts shooting at you."  
  
"Thanks," muttered Elliot, pulling off his shirt to slide his vest on. Olivia contemplated the scuff mark at the tip of her shoe, making sure not to look at Elliot's bare chest. Elliot shoved his arms back into his sleeves, then said irritably. "You all better keep your hands off my beef with broccoli."  
  
Munch snickered. "You'd better make sure everyone in there keeps their hands off your beef, too."  
  
"Shut up, John," answered Elliot, checking to see that his microphone was fastened securely under his shirt. After a moment, he straightened up, finally satisfied that everything was in order. "Tell me it's two. Let me go do this thing."  
  
Cragen glanced at the clock and nodded. "You're fine. Go. But remember that you only want to push Destler if it's easy. If we're right about all of this, there will be a kid in the next room waiting to have sex with you, so if you get the feeling that anything you're saying makes Destler nervous, bust him and get out of there. If you can get him to give up something about who he's working for, great, but we've already got enough for Novak to put this guy in Rikers for 15 to 25."  
  
Elliot nodded and stood up. "I'll be back while the Chinese is still warm." Olivia looked up at him, her face pale and concerned.   
  
________________  
  
Elliot approached Destler's door feeling strangely calm, given what he was about to do. He couldn't stop thinking about going home with Olivia at a semi-normal time, maybe having a glass of wine, crawling into bed, perhaps even naked for the first time in who knows how long. He snapped back into focus and knocked on the door, rehearsing his questions for the tenth time. He drew in one more deep breath before he heard the knob turn.  
  
The door opened to reveal a balding, fortysomething man wearing wire-rimmed glasses. Elliot's first thought was that the man was significantly larger and taller than the mental picture he had formed from George's profile and the on-line messaging. Destler eyed him for a moment, then said, "Mr. Compton?"  
  
Elliot nodded, attempting to look enthusiastic without overdoing it. "Yes. I'm on time, aren't I?"  
  
Destler opened the door and motioned for him to enter. "Exactly. We'll talk for a moment, and then if I'm satisfied that you meet our customer requirements, you can get acquainted with your date."  
  
Elliot stepped through the door, so focused on swallowing his revulsion and keeping his face neutral or even slightly eager that it took him a moment to register the appearance of his surroundings. By the time he did, it was too late. He heard the click of the door shutting behind him, followed by the sound of Destler throwing the deadbolt. His eyes slowly traced the walls of the room, and he found that it took all of his self control to keep the stream of profanity playing in his head from exiting his lips.  
  
Where your average person had pictures or a tacked up basket collection, Destler had firearms. There wasn't a space on any of the walls in the room that didn't contain a neatly polished gun, resting on hooks. Next to where Destler was standing, there was a small table, maybe 4 ft. by 6 ft, also covered with firearms of various types. Not ten feet away from that table sat a larger one, also mostly covered with guns, but also strewn with various types of firearm maintenance equipment.  
  
Elliot paused, aware that his first priority was to quiet the explosion of competing responses bouncing back and forth inside his head. He hadn't been prepared for their entire, supposedly well-constructed plan to be blown to bits within ten seconds of entering the room. Which didn't matter, because it was and he had to make a new plan fast. First, he had to say something that would let everyone in the van know that the rules of engagement had drastically changed.  
  
"Wow. Didn't know you were so enthusiastic about firearms," commented Elliot. He wanted to say something about the number so that Olivia would know what he was up against, but he couldn't risk making Destler jumpy right off the bat. Schooling his face to remain as expressionless as he could make it, he frantically scrolled through possible ways to alert Olivia as he waited for Destler to respond.  
  
Destler chuckled. "Quite a hobby of mine, yes. Sometimes I have friends over and let them guess which ones I keep loaded. If they guess right I'll give a couple away."  
  
 _Fuck_. Elliot felt the solid weight of his weapon inside his shirt. All the preparation was useless now. He'd never be able to draw before Destler could grab one of his guns, so all the power in this room belonged to the nutcase in front of him. Pausing to be sure that his voice was level, Elliot said, "Don't some of your clients feel a little edgy when they get in here and lay eyes on your collection? Seems like it might be bad for business."  
  
Destler shrugged, picking up a .45 and a white cloth, with which he began to polish the barrel of the gun. "Why? Do the guns lessen your enthusiasm for meeting the young man in the other room?" He cocked his head in the direction of a closed door.  
  
 _Keep it light, Stabler_. "Not at all. But I like guns. Some people don't."  
  
Destler's face relaxed slightly, and he grinned. "There was this one guy. I was feeling like a pain in the ass so I told him he had to choose a gun before he could meet his date. He shot himself in the foot and wound up in the hospital. Didn't come back, either. Lost some good money on that one."  
  
"Well, better than this guy I know. Got himself shot in the ass a couple weeks ago. Wound up sitting on one of those donuts for a month." _Okay, Liv. Come and get me the fuck out of here_.  
  
________________  
  
Inside the van, Cragen watched as Olivia set down her chicken lo mein and instantly went three shades paler than she already was, a feat considering her illness. She stood abruptly. "He's in trouble. We've got to go in there."  
  
"Sit down and wait for one damn second," barked Cragen. Softening his voice slightly, he continued. "We don't know for certain what's going on. We might be risking more by sending in the cavalry at the moment anyway. Let Elliot talk to this guy for a few more minutes and then we'll reevaluate."  
  
For a moment, Olivia automatically did as she was told. But suddenly, fear drowned out every rational impulse. Elliot would never have referenced their breakfast conversation if he had another option. Before she quite knew what she was doing, she stood, seized the bag filled with the remainder of the Chinese food, slammed open the back door of the van, and jumped out, all before Cragen, Fin, or Munch had time to react. If she hadn't been so quick, one of them might have grabbed her, but she had the element of surprise on her side and was halfway down the block within seconds.  
  
________________  
  
Olivia slowed outside of Destler's apartment, breathing deeply, trying to quell the panic she felt rising up in her in waves. She wasn't even sure what she intended to do if she persuaded Destler to open the door, but she'd gone on autopilot the instant she heard Elliot's veiled call for help. Stopping in front of the door, she thought for a few seconds, then leaned over as if to tie her shoe, put the bag of Chinese beside her, and knocked loudly on the door. As soon as she'd stopped knocking, she pulled out her gun, clicked off the safety, and held it close to her body, careful that anyone looking through the peephole wouldn't be able to see the weapon.  
  
"What?" The voice that came through the door was annoyed, but definitely not frightened. Not cornered.  
  
"Imperial Garden," she improvised, reasoning that if she could only get Destler to turn and open the door, Elliot might have enough time to go for his gun. She heard footsteps coming in her direction.  
  
"I didn't order Chinese." The voice was louder this time.  
  
"Your address is on my take-out slip." She tried to make her voice insistent, annoying enough that he'd realize she wasn't going away. _Just open the door. Turn your back on Elliot and open the door_. She heard the deadbolt click and exhaled quietly, her entire body taught. As the door swung open, she simultaneously stood and raised her gun as rapidly as she could, but it wasn't fast enough. What happened next caught her so off-guard that she wasn't sure of the details until it was over.  
  
At the moment she began to stand, Destler yanked a 9 mm. off the wall, and with one swift swing of his arm, brought it crashing into her hand. She didn't yet have her gun far enough up to shoot, but it was irrelevant, because the impact of the metal on her fingers sent her weapon flying. It bounced off the doorway and flew into Destler's apartment, stopping a few inches away from the door frame.  
  
With his hand still holding the gun, Destler brought it back, this time into Olivia's right cheekbone. She heard a crack and felt a white hot jolt of pain explode across the side of her face. A half second later, Destler's other hand reached forward and grabbed a large handful of her shirt. He hauled her into the apartment, kicked the door shut with the back of his foot, and in one fluid movement, spun her around so that his left arm had her in a chokehold. She drew in half a breath before she realized that the cold sensation against her right temple, directly above the throbbing on her cheek, was the muzzle of Destler's 9 mm.  
  
Both she and Destler now faced Elliot directly, and although she would have preferred to look anywhere else, now that she had fucked up the situation even worse, Olivia raised her eyes and met the look of sheer panic in Elliot's. As she did so, she noticed that one part of her calculus had been correct. The distraction had given him time to get his gun, which he now held pointed at Destler.  
  
Elliot stood as still as he could, absorbing the flood of adrenalin that now made his heart pound painfully against his Kevlar vest. He took in the scene before him. Olivia, pasty white except for the rapidly rising bruise on her right cheek. Destler, his face confused but unfortunately not particularly alarmed, holding his 9 mm. directly against Olivia's right temple. The walls behind him, papered with weapons. A sickening ball formed in his stomach, as it occurred to him that at this point, he and Olivia were on their own. There were no open windows - no point of entry even if a SWAT team could get here on time, and Cragen would never intervene once he figured out that Destler had a gun to Olivia's head.  
  
Destler pulled his arm tighter around Olivia's neck, and his face curved into a tense half-smile. "You're a cop," he said to Elliot, his voice unsettlingly level, given the situation. "I thought something was off about you from the beginning. Told myself to forget about it, because the last time I got that vibe, I was wrong. Boss almost fired me." He shifted his weight, pressing the gun so firmly into Olivia's temple that her head moved an inch or so to the left.   
  
She bit into her lip, and Elliot could hear her as clearly as if she'd spoken aloud. _I'm sorry_.  
  
Elliot stomach contracted, and he swallowed firmly in an attempt to control himself. The anger would get him nowhere now. The sweat that blanketed his palms made them slippery against the handle of his gun. _Distract him. Get him thinking about you instead of Olivia. Get him thinking about anything besides Olivia_. "You're right. I'm a cop. A wired cop. So how do you think this is gonna work out for you?"  
  
The half-smile faded from Destler's face, replaced by a look of calm determination, rather than the fear Elliot had hoped to evoke. He answered Elliot's question, his voice quieter now. "Probably not well. But I'm quite aware that nobody is likely to come crashing in to rescue you when I have your lady friend here in a chokehold with a Smith  & Wesson 9 mm. pressed into her temple. If I stop worrying about what might happen to me once we're finished here, I could probably have quite a bit of fun screwing with the two of you." He paused, his expression suddenly thoughtful. "You know, I've never actually killed anyone before. I have to admit it's on my list of things to do before I die."  
  
Destler's words repeated themselves inside Elliot's head as if he'd set a CD track on repeat. Elliot found himself bizarrely amused at the way life chooses to send you epiphanies at odd moments. As he stood there, watching Destler hold a loaded weapon at Olivia's head, hearing the man threaten to kill her in front of him, Elliot suddenly understood, in an almost overwhelming way, why Olivia could never have taken a shot at Victor Gitano in that warehouse over a year ago.  
  
 _Concentrate, goddamnit. What are your options_? He moved his hand to hold his weapon more securely, trying to process all his choices in five seconds or less. Beneath everything else complicating the situation, he had to contend with the gun at Olivia's head. He was powerless to take any action until the gun was pointed elsewhere.  
  
Elliot finally moved his eyes from Destler's face to Olivia's. He could see the fear in her eyes, but to anyone else, her expression would have appeared entirely neutral. She was clearly furious with herself, and he found himself praying that he'd get the chance to tell her it wasn't her fault. It never had been.  
  
He breathed deeply, looking at Olivia and willing her to understand what he was saying even though he couldn't speak. He glanced at the weapon so quickly that he knew only she would notice the eye movement. _Liv. We have to get him to move the gun. If I can piss him off and make him target me, you might be able to move enough to let me take a shot_.   
  
Olivia's eyes widened as she held his gaze. His words were almost audible inside her mind, and her body turned cold as she realized what he wanted her to do. For several seconds, she looked silently back at him, fighting with so many competing responses that she wanted to scream. Elliot was wearing a vest, but if Destler got off a shot and hit him anywhere above the neck. . . All of her thoughts kaleidoscoped into one word.  
  
 _No_.


	10. Chapter 10

Olivia stared at Elliot, exerting all her willpower to control her breathing so that Destler wouldn't have the satisfaction of knowing how terrified she was. The room had fallen into a suffocating silence. Outside, she heard the occasional beep of a car horn and the low drone of a plane flying overhead, but inside, she heard only two things: her own blood rushing in her ears, and the muffled sound of a radio playing behind the closed door of another room. Her eyes remained locked on Elliot's, watching him silently beg her not to fight him, to let him aggravate Destler into shifting his focus away from her. To go against all of her instincts and be passive.  
  
"You two don't talk much, do you?" Destler's hold around Olivia's neck relaxed slightly, as if to make sure she could speak if she felt so inclined. The lack of fear in his voice almost made her shiver, because she knew they were dealing with someone who believed he had nothing to lose. He'd happily kill one or both of them even if doing so was suicide.  
  
Choosing to ignore Elliot for the moment, Olivia swallowed and said, with just a touch of sarcasm, "So what's your plan here? Why don't _you_ do the talking?"  
  
Destler chuckled, his body shifting behind her. "Nice try, but I already told you my plan. This ends one of two ways for me. I'm dead, or I'm in jail. I'm not sure which of those options I prefer, so for the moment, since I'm in control here, I'm going to enjoy myself." He paused, turning his head to glance at the door, then looked back toward Elliot, studying him as Olivia distracted herself by counting her own heartbeats.  
  
As quiet blanketed the room again, Elliot ignored the ache he could feel building in his right arm from holding his weapon in the same position, and, willing himself to screen Destler out, fixed his gaze on Olivia's eyes. He couldn't explain why he was so certain, but for some reason he knew that she would only walk out of there alive if he could get Destler to take the gun away from her head and focus his attention elsewhere. Something about Destler's expression told Elliot that given enough time, the man would pull the trigger. He also knew that Olivia would willingly _let_ Destler kill her if she had to choose between her own life and his.  
  
Elliot's thoughts rewound to a moment sometime last week, when he had come home after 2 a.m., expecting to find Olivia long asleep. Instead, he'd opened the door to see her kneeling on the living room floor, listening to Diana Krall and folding a huge pile of laundry - a haphazard mix of his sweats, her jeans, and a jumble of t-shirts belonging to both of them. She had looked up and smiled, saying something about how she'd made him a grilled cheese sandwich on that shitty bread he liked - the stuff with all the pieces of sunflower seeds. But her words had barely registered, because all he saw was how hard she was trying, in the midst of work's mind-numbing grind, to keep something about their lives normal. To be awake to talk for a minute when he got home. To make him something to eat even though she was the least domestic person in the world, because she knew he wouldn't bother to eat at the station.  
  
Elliot wanted to vomit. When Gitano had stood there with a gun to his head, it had all seemed so easy. One bullet. Done. In that moment, it hadn't occurred to him that Olivia would be left with the fallout. Now that their roles were reversed, he prayed to whoever might happen to be listening that Olivia's innate empathy would make her think twice before letting Destler shoot her. He was begging, but he didn't give a shit. He wanted her alive. It was that simple. _Liv, please. Please. You have to trust me this time. If we stand here and keep up with this bullshit conversation, he's going to kill you. And I'm going to watch. I can't do it. Shut up and let me take over_.  
  
Olivia's eyes filled with tears, and she was oddly comforted that at least Destler couldn't get a good look at her face. Despite the fact that she was a cop, she had actually given very little thought to the possibility of her own death. It was there as a backdrop in most situations, but in a theoretical way, rather than a present tense probability. Still watching Elliot, she found herself amazed at the number of things that could move through her mind all in the space of two or three seconds. She wished that she'd woken up that morning when Elliot came home, to talk to him before he went to sleep.  
  
She flashed back to last weekend, when they'd finally had a few hours off and Elliot had rented some terrible movie about giant carnivorous worms. She'd watched for maybe five minutes and then fallen asleep on the couch, with her back to his chest. Right now, even though it was obviously Destler's body behind her, she could have sworn she could feel the rise and fall of Elliot's chest, his heartbeat against her skin, the realization that for once, she didn't want to be anywhere else but right there, with the television flickering and the warm smell of Guinness on Elliot's breath, as she closed her eyes and let herself go.  
  
Olivia blinked to refocus on the present. Despite her efforts, a tear streaked down toward her lip, and she realized that her nose was beginning to run. As if all the machinery of her mind had inexplicably started working again, she knew with unnerving conviction that Elliot was right. Her eyes glassy, she moved her head forward just enough to let him know she'd acquiesced. _Go ahead, El. Do your thing. I won't say anything. But if you get yourself killed, I'll kill you again, just like I promised in the hospital._  
  
Elliot's mouth almost turned up at the edges, and his own eyes stung, because he knew what it had cost her to give in. But now that she had, he could breathe again. He was back in control. He exhaled and let his natural ability to irritate the hell out of people take over.  
  
Addressing Destler in a voice saturated with macho confidence, he said, "So what do you think your boss is gonna say when we either put a bullet through you or throw your ass in jail, and start quizzing the kid in the other room about what's been going down here?" He pasted his best cocky grin on his face, hoping it had its usual effect.  
  
Destler's expression darkened, and his arm gripped Olivia's neck more forcefully. Yet he didn't raise his voice when he said, "I don't think there's any way the boss can blame this on me. You don't know who he is, so the outcome of our little situation here won't affect him."  
  
Elliot scoffed. "Are you actually that stupid? You think the kid in the other room isn't going to give up everything he knows once a bunch of pissed-off looking cops show up, throw him in the back of a police cruiser, and drop him in interrogation room two? We'll have your boss within days, thanks to your incompetence. You really should do your homework before you let undercover cops into your apartment." He took a small step forward, his posture increasingly aggressive. "And when we find him, which we will, we'll be sure to let the boss man know who fucked up his profit margin."  
  
Destler pressed the gun more firmly into Olivia's temple, and for a moment Elliot felt a wave of panic engulf him. What if he was wrong, and his supposedly brilliant plan caused her death instead of preventing it? But Destler remained relatively calm. "You're never going to find him. He's always one step ahead of you." However, his voice faltered slightly, and the look of firm assurance had vanished from his face. Elliot felt the knot that had taken over his entire midsection loosen a little. _It's working. Keep pushing_.  
  
Elliot glanced around the room, surveying the firearms and the lack of any comfortable furniture. "So this is really your life, huh? That's fucking pathetic. You sit here all day, polishing your guns and helping sick pedophile freaks get their rocks off with underage boys? Was that your childhood ambition? A goal of yours?"  
  
Destler seemed on the verge of a retort. Instead, he abruptly changed course. His left arm moved from the chokehold he had consistently maintained around Olivia's neck, and drifted slowly lower, until his hand was firmly, painfully massaging her breast. Olivia wanted to stiffen, but there was no way she'd give him the satisfaction.  
  
For a split second, Elliot felt nothing but uncontrollable rage. He let himself have the momentary fantasy of ripping Destler's head off and ramming it down his throat, but he knew Destler wanted exactly that - to get him pissed off enough to lose it. _Keep pushing. Make him angrier. Don't get sidetracked._  
  
Olivia's eyes flashed at him, because she knew what his reaction would be. _Don't. Don't let him get to you. Letting this asshole cop a feel is a small price to pay if we get out of here. Keep doing what you're doing. It's working, goddamnit. Let this be about you and him and he'll move the gun. He's not hurting me._  
  
Elliot wiped his face of expression, then replaced the blankness with a shit-eating smirk. "Have at it, man. I'm sure you don't get much, and she's pretty fucking hot, isn't she? Guess you'd better take what you can get, although I have to say it's pathetic when you need a woman at gunpoint before you can make it to second base. Maybe setting up ‘dates' for other people takes your mind off the fact that you can't remember the last time you scored. Do you drive one of those Hummers? Because you must have the world's smallest dick."  
  
That was all it took. Destler moved so swiftly that Elliot's eyes could barely follow the trajectory of his arm. But in a millisecond, the weapon was pointed at him. Incongruous as it was, all Elliot could feel was relief. For the moment, he could stop thinking about a bullet hole through Olivia's temple.  
  
Obviously agitated, Destler cleared his throat, but his voice was still level when he said, "You do realize that at this distance, my accuracy is virtually 100 percent?"  
  
"So you say. Let's have it then. Bet you miss."  
  
"I don't miss." As Destler spoke, Elliot glanced one last time at Olivia, and time slowed to a crawl. Destler's finger tightened on the trigger, but as it did, Olivia used the combination of her body weight and the element of surprise to drop sideways, grabbing Destler's right arm at the moment the gun discharged.  
  
Destler's wasn't the only gunshot. The moment Olivia moved, Elliot fired. The bullet caught Destler full in the chest, and he fell sideways, knocking Olivia all the way to the floor and landing halfway on top of her. She frantically shoved him away from her body, her hands dripping with blood where they touched his chest. The moment she had oriented herself, she pulled the weapon from Destler's hand, but one look at him told her that it didn't matter. Blood bubbled from both his chest and his mouth, and his breathing was already slowing.  
  
She stood and turned toward Elliot, only to find him flat on his back. "No. El," she gasped. "Shit!" She eliminated the distance between them in three strides, but as she dropped to her knees, she heard his voice. She couldn't recall a time in her life when a single sound had filled her with such euphoria.  
  
"I'm okay. Liv. I'm okay. It's fine. He caught me in the vest." The impact of the bullet had knocked the wind out of him, and Elliot panted for a moment before he spoke again. "Good thing it's on the other side from where Martinez kicked the shit out of me. Those ribs can't take any more abuse."  
  
Olivia wanted to respond, but found that she couldn't speak for the moment. Elliot sat up stiffly and reached for her hand, his expression filled with so many different emotions that she almost had to look away from the intensity of it. He glanced up and down her body. "You're all right?" His voice was rough and laced with exhaustion. She nodded, still not moving. Elliot gently withdrew his hand from hers and walked over to check Destler. After a beat he said, "He's dead. I'll call." Almost as an afterthought, he said, "Shit. Can you go talk to the kid in the other room?" Elliot pointed at the door that Destler had indicated earlier. "He's probably scared out of his mind."  
  
She swallowed hard. "Yeah." Elliot flipped open his cell and dialed. Olivia started to move toward the bedroom, pausing when she noticed her gun on the floor. She retrieved it, still defensive in case there were any more surprises. Suddenly, the apartment's main door slammed open with a loud crack. Fin and Munch walked in, quickly lowering their weapons when they saw that the situation was under control. Cragen followed several steps behind, looking unbelievably pissed off.  
  
Dispensing with the niceties as always, he said, "Before I tell you what an idiotic, insubordinate, impressively stubborn and stupid thing you just did, I'll pause to ask if you two are okay."  
  
Olivia offered him a drained half-smile. "We're fine." She glanced at Munch. "Could you go rescue the kid in there?" She nodded her head toward the appropriate door. "I'll pass if you don't mind."  
  
"Sure." Munch smiled. "I'm glad your gamble worked." He gestured toward Cragen, who was now conversing with Elliot near Destler's inert body. "And so is he, no matter what he says."  
  
"I know," Olivia replied uncomfortably. Munch left without further comment, and Olivia walked over to join Cragen and Elliot. When she stopped about a foot away from Elliot's side, Cragen said quietly, "Look. Here's the deal. Regardless of how it happened, you two managed to extricate yourselves from what was obviously a potentially fatal confrontation. We can talk to this kid, probably get some new leads, so that's good." He coughed and looked straight at Elliot. "However, it's clear that we need to have that conversation we've all been dodging for months, so you two can drop the act now. Go home. Get some rest. But be in my office at nine tomorrow. Both of you. Got it?"  
  
Elliot met Cragen's gaze evenly. "Yeah."  
  
Cragen nodded briskly. "Good. Then get out of here. Munch and Fin will deal with the kid. You can do your statements tomorrow."  
  
Olivia turned toward the door, with Elliot trailing her a step or two behind. He caught up to her, and she was surprised to feel his hand close over hers. Her skin was still sticky with Destler's blood, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she tightened her fingers over his, knowing that the full force of what had just taken place had yet to hit them. When it did, she wanted to be holding on.  
  
________________  
  
When Elliot held the door open for her and she walked into the house, Olivia felt strangely disoriented, as if she were tilted ten degrees sideways and the rest of the world was still upright. Neither she nor Elliot had spoken in the car on the drive home, although he had picked up her hand the instant he fastened his seatbelt and squeezed it so hard that her skin was still red. Several times, she had opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again, because the nauseating swirl of emotions in her head wouldn't separate themselves into words. And oddly enough, she was glad that Elliot also remained silent, as one word from him might have snapped her tenuous control. She heard the door click behind her and forced herself to speak.  
  
"I'm going to take a really long shower and get cleaned up." Her own voice sounded as if it were coming from far away. Elliot still said nothing, his face taut and set. Olivia wondered why, after all these months together, it was sometimes still so hard for them to tell each other the truth. He wanted to cry. She knew that. So did she. God, so did she. But neither of them could let go. Exhausted to the point of trembling from hours of exerting unflinching control, she turned toward the stairs. On the third step she glanced over her shoulder and said, so quietly that he almost didn't hear her, "Will you come wash off with me?"  
  
Elliot's eyes widened in surprise, her request so unexpected. He cleared his throat and nodded, because the suffocating pressure in his chest was only getting worse. She continued up the stairs and directly into the bathroom. After watching her back for a moment, he followed, breathing slowly, longing desperately for the control he knew he didn't have. He stopped in the doorway of the bathroom, where Olivia was already stripping off her shirt and bra. Elliot stared at the bruises on her neck and right breast, the anger flooding him again. But he observed that she seemed completely unconcerned about it, as if she didn't even notice. She slipped out of her jeans and underwear, then looked back at him, attempting a smile for the first time in hours. "You can't join me with your clothes on."  
  
"I was watching you."  
  
"I know." She leaned forward and turned on the shower, sighing when her hand left a bloody smudge on the faucet. She cranked the temperature as far up as she thought they could handle it, then stepped in, leaving the curtain open for Elliot. He quickly pulled off his t-shirt, jeans, and boxers, throwing them on the floor before he followed her, closing the curtain behind him. For a moment, he simply watched her, as she leaned her head back to saturate her hair. Her hands still hung at her sides, smeared with blood all the way up to her forearms.  
  
Elliot grabbed the bar of soap and rubbed it briskly back and forth between his palms, then reached forward, taking both of Olivia's hands in his own. As he did so, her eyes met and held his for the first time since they'd left Destler's apartment. Within seconds, the now crushing weight in Elliot's chest expanded across his entire body, and his control snapped. Still rubbing her hands and arms, he tried to breathe through the sobs that choked him with unexpected force. Tears slid down his cheeks, and he didn't bother to wipe them, because he was still trying to get the blood off of Olivia's hands.  
  
Finally, when she couldn't watch him anymore, Olivia pulled her hands out of his and pressed her entire body against him, her arms around his neck, her cheek against his. She pulled him slightly forward so that the water washed over him, too. Their nakedness. His sobbing. It was so intimate, so outside her comfort zone, even now, that she almost wanted to pull away. But something wouldn't let her, because she knew that whether it was comfortable or not, they both needed this connection so desperately. _Shit. Shit. Shit_. She felt herself fragmenting, the humiliating vulnerability, and it made her so angry, because she wanted to comfort him, not make him feel worse by losing it. But his chest shook against her, and images from the afternoon flashed through her mind in hauntingly vivid detail. The cold steel of Destler's gun against her temple. The pure hit of adrenaline when she had turned to see Elliot lying on the floor. She leaned forward into his shoulder and cried, her tears mingling with the spray that slid down his back.  
  
Elliot wasn't sure how long they stood like that, shaking, holding on so tightly that the water couldn't slide between their bodies. His hands moved up and down her back, again and again, because he couldn't stop touching her, thinking about what might have happened if he had been wrong. If he hadn't read Destler correctly. If she hadn't understood what he wanted her to do.  
  
When his chest finally stopped feeling as if it were on fire, Elliot lifted his arms and took Olivia's face in his hands. He smoothed the pad of his thumb back and forth across the nasty purple welt on her right cheek, his fingers pushing her damp hair away from her face. His voice rough, a mixture of anger, fear, and love, he said, "You would have let him do it, wouldn't you?"  
  
She didn't hesitate. "Yes."  
  
"Goddamnit."  
  
"You would have let Gitano."  
  
"I know."  
  
"Cragen's going to separate us." She felt sick.  
  
"No, he's not," Elliot replied, his voice surprisingly firm.  
  
"What?" She pulled back, exhausted and confused.  
  
"I said he's not." Elliot reached for the shampoo, poured a large circle into his hand, and said gently, "Turn around."  
  
She hesitated, then did as he asked. He rubbed the citrus-scented liquid into her hair, his fingers making soothing patterns on her scalp. She suddenly wanted nothing more than to go to sleep. "I'm so tired," she whispered.  
  
"So am I." He held her by the shoulders and turned her around. "Tilt your head back. We'll rinse your hair and go to sleep. We can talk about Cragen later."  
  
She wanted to argue, to make him tell her what made him so convinced that Cragen wouldn't separate them. She wanted to tell him that the thought of looking at someone else across the desk threw her mind out of alignment. But her head felt fuzzy, the letdown smacking her full force. She let Elliot finish rinsing her hair, then rubbed the blood off the faucet with her washcloth and stepped out of the shower. She handed him a towel before wrapping one around herself, and walked out into the bedroom, stopping in front of the dresser to search for something to sleep in.  
  
"Don't put anything on." Elliot's voice was low. Strained. Sad.  
  
"Elliot, I don't want to. . . "  
  
He cut her off. "I don't either. All I want to do is sleep. But I need to be able to touch you."  
  
She smiled, unable to help herself. "Okay."  
  
He pulled down the covers, holding them so she could crawl in, then flipped off the light, although it didn't make much difference, since the late afternoon sun still filtered through the blinds. He slipped in beside her, his arm hugging her stomach, his leg sliding between hers, as if he couldn't get close enough. Kissing the back of her neck, he whispered, almost inaudibly, "Thank you."  
  
She didn't even know what he was thanking her for. But she pulled the covers closer and answered, "You're welcome," before closing her eyes and falling asleep within half a minute. Before the full minute was up, he had joined her.  
  
________________  
  
She wouldn't listen. He begged. Silently. Again and again. But she wouldn't listen. She kept taunting Destler. _Go ahead. Shoot me. You don't have the balls. Do it. You're full of shit._ The safety cocked. Destler's finger on the trigger. Moving in millimeters, one by one, as Elliot watched him squeeze. CRACK. Olivia falling. Blood everywhere. Soaking the carpet. His hand on her neck. No pulse. No.  
  
Elliot sat upright, covered in sweat, gasping for air. He looked frantically around the room, stopping only when his eyes landed on Olivia, who was also sitting upright and staring at him, her eyes wide. _Fuck_.  
  
But she knew. She reached for his hand and spoke, her voice low and soothing, "That's not what happened. I'm right here. I'm fine."  
  
He gazed at her for a minute, calming his breathing, coming out of the surreal, horrifying atmosphere of his dream. He ran his hand up the back of her arm, then leaned forward and touched his lips to hers. He was gentle, but she could feel the desperation vibrating through his body as he moved toward her. Slightly surprised, she opened her mouth to him, sliding her tongue over his upper lip before she slipped it into his mouth and gently stroked his tongue with hers. He felt himself harden immediately, because it felt so good to be able to touch her like this, after the dream, after the afternoon, after everything.  
  
He pushed her down beside him, his hand moving softly up the inside of her thigh. She was already breathing rapidly, and he smiled at her unguarded expression, the way she didn't even try to hide how much she wanted him to touch her. He slipped a finger inside her and kissed her again as he felt her gasp.  
  
Olivia looked toward the window as she pressed herself into Elliot's hand, her body halfway asleep and yet obviously fully awake in some senses. Darkness had fallen, and even inside only the slight glow of the alarm clock on the bedside table allowed her to make out Elliot's features. She was so turned on so suddenly that she couldn't keep still, and the lazy movement of Elliot's finger inside her only made the ache worse. After letting him play for a minute, she said softly, "Come up here."  
  
He moved his hand, but pushed her arm away when she reached for him. "In a second." Pulling the covers back, he moved down to kiss the inside of her thighs, occasionally drawing a soft circle with his tongue before drifting to a different location. She wanted his mouth on her, and he knew it, but he bypassed her center and went straight for her stomach, where he continued to kiss his way up her body. As he kissed her, grinning as she squirmed beneath him, he let his index finger make gentle arcs underneath her left breast, careful not to touch her on the other side, where Destler had bruised her. When his tongue slipped into her naval, and his thumb simultaneously circled her nipple, she'd had enough.  
  
"Elliot. Get up here. Now." Smart enough not to ignore that tone, he rolled over directly on top of her and kissed her again, all of his pent-up frustration focused on what his mouth was doing to hers. She reached down to stroke him, and he was so hard, so hot, and her hand felt so good that he thought he might come right there, but he checked himself, pulling back slightly.  
  
She sighed, frustrated. "You're not playing fair."  
  
"I know. I'll stop." He nudged her legs further apart with his knee and pressed himself against her opening. She had turned her head to the side, but he took her chin in his hand, tilting her face toward him. "Liv. Look at me."  
  
Catching the gravity in his tone, she did as he asked. When her eyes were locked on his, he moved forward and slid into her, unable to stop the slight gasp at how amazing she felt. Watching her face, he wondered if he'd ever stop feeling that way when he was with her like this, as if everything were multiplied by a factor of twelve. Twelve times the anticipation. Twelve times the intensity. Twelve times the pleasure. She was already moving beneath him, but he reached down, grabbed her hips, and stilled her. "Wait."  
  
Flushed, she looked at him. "Why?"  
  
"Just wait for a minute."  
  
His eyes were serious, and she reached up to touch his face. "Are you okay?"  
  
"Yeah. I just. . . ." He paused, leaning his forehead against hers, his breath warm on her cheek. "I love you."  
  
"And I love you." Her voice caught on the words, but he just smiled, kissed her again, and began to move, pressing into her with unhurried movements of his hips. He moved his hands to her face, touching her temples with his fingers and watching her as he picked up the pace. Her fingers slipped into the back of his hair, and at the moment she shifted her hips up to meet his, the change in angle caused his next thrust to hit her in exactly the right spot, and her orgasm hit her without warning. She breathed his name and arched off the bed into him.  
  
What was left of his willpower couldn't withstand watching her face as she came, and though he tried to give her a second to reorient herself, it was too late, and he felt himself coming in a warm rush. For that moment, he stopped trying to control anything, and gave himself over to the sensation of relaxation, of release. To the unfiltered joy that she was here, hot and sweaty beneath him in their bed, rather than ice cold on a slab in the morgue. He rested his head on the warm skin of her shoulder, dropping a kiss there before he rolled off of her. He rubbed his hand over the stubble on his chin and said with a grin, "That was cathartic."  
  
She shifted to her side and smiled at him. "Shut up. You're going to get my cold now."  
  
"I'll risk it. We should sleep naked more often." He smoothed his hand gently over her hip, twisting his head to see the alarm clock display. He chuckled. "It's 3 a.m. and I'm completely awake now."  
  
"So am I. And I'm starving."  
  
Elliot pushed himself out of bed and walked to the dresser, yanking out a t-shirt and a pair of sweats. He pulled them on and said, "Meet me downstairs. I'll find something for us to eat."  
  
________________  
  
Olivia smelled coffee before she even made it to the bottom step. Dressed in a tank top and a pair of Elliot's boxers, she ventured into the kitchen to find him putting the Double Fudge Brownie ice cream back in the freezer. He turned and raised an eyebrow at her. "Nice outfit. Do you do that on purpose to make me crazy?"  
  
"Don't flatter yourself. I do it because it's comfortable." She leaned against the countertop, listening to the soothing drip of the coffeemaker. "We're having ice cream and coffee at 3:15?"  
  
Elliot opened the silverware drawer and pulled out two spoons, sticking one into each bowl of ice cream. "We've been asleep for almost eight hours and we're meeting Cragen in less than six. Were you planning on going back to bed?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Didn't think so. Let's sit on the couch and see what's on TV. Grab the ice cream and I'll bring coffee."  
  
Shaking her head, Olivia picked up the two bowls and walked into the living room, sinking into the couch. She had to admit that the shower, the sleep, the sex - all of it - had relaxed her to the point where she was capable of thinking about the meeting with Cragen without having a panic attack. Nonetheless, she still wished that they could get it over with, rather than sitting here killing time.  
  
Elliot handed her a mug of coffee, then sat on the other end of the couch, leaning back and looking at her with an unreadable expression.  
  
After a beat, she said, "What?"  
  
"What made you decide to sleep with me?"  
  
She stuck a large spoonful of ice cream into her mouth and let it dissolve. "I felt sorry for you. You looked like you needed to get laid." She smirked at him, digging her spoon back into the chocolate.  
  
"I'm serious."  
  
She looked up, ice cream forgotten. "What's going on with you? Why are you asking me about this?" She propped her bare feet gently on his leg.  
  
"Your feet are freezing."  
  
"Deal with it."  
  
"They wouldn't be so cold if you'd put some clothes on."  
  
"You weren't complaining about my lack of apparel earlier."  
  
He laughed. "No. I wasn't." He swallowed a large sip of coffee and set his mug on the table next to him before he returned to her question. "Twelve hours ago I thought I was about to watch you die. Makes me think about a lot of things."  
  
"Okay." She thought for a minute before she answered. "I slept with you because for whatever reason, after Martinez tried to kill you, I was too tired to keep pretending. It was exhausting. For both of us. That's why we fought all the time, as a distraction. Which obviously didn't work anyway." She lifted her spoon again and took another bite, the cold chocolate melting as it slipped down her throat. "Oh, and because I'm completely in love with you. Forgot about that."  
  
He never got tired of hearing her say it, but tonight, for whatever reason, he couldn't leave it alone. "Do you ever wonder if, without Martinez and Romero, we'd still be throwing insults at each other across the desk, maybe not even be partners anymore, because we're both too fucking stubborn to give in?"  
  
"No."  
  
The conviction in her voice made him warm all over. Elliot thought she was going to say something else, but she fell silent, licking ice cream off the back of her spoon. He picked up the remote and began to click aimlessly through the channels, enduring yet another wave of annoyance that he couldn't bring himself to pay for premium cable. Liposuction gone wrong. _Happy Days_. The scary singing people on the religious channel. An infomercial for some sort of skin care product line. _Charlie's Angels_. He gave up, turned off the TV, and covered Olivia's feet with his hands, rubbing them gently until he could feel her skin warming under his fingers.  
  
She sipped her coffee and glanced at the dark television screen before looking back at him. "You know what I think?"  
  
"What?" He moved his hands up to her calves, and she stretched toward him, settling deeper into the couch.  
  
"I think that no matter what, we would have ended up right here."  
  
________________  
  
As she stood in front of Elliot, outside Cragen's office door at 8:58 a.m., trying to summon the courage to knock, Olivia couldn't stop thinking that she would give almost anything to skip the next fifteen to twenty minutes of her life. There were so many possible outcomes to this conversation. She could be fired. She could be transferred. Cragen could keep her here but split her and Elliot. All of this put together made her grateful that for once, she had opted to skip breakfast and stick with two cups of very strong coffee. At least she didn't feel in imminent danger of losing her Mini-Wheats. But she still couldn't bring herself to raise her arm and knock on the damn door.  
  
Finally exasperated by her hesitation, Elliot reached around her and knocked briskly, five times. The sound seemed unnaturally loud to him, but he figured it was all in his head. He had the odd sensation of watching events from someplace else, as if the current moment were a scene in a play. If only.  
  
"Come in. Then shut the door." Cragen's trademark businesslike tone gave away nothing.  
  
Olivia forced herself to lift her hand and turn the doorknob. Cragen sat at his desk, hands behind his head, somehow managing to look both amused and ticked off at the same time. Olivia propelled herself forward, listening to Elliot's footsteps behind her. The door clicked shut and she felt her heartbeat accelerate.  
  
Cragen studied them for a moment before he said, "Both of you sit down."  
  
For once no one argued. Elliot leaned against the back of the chair, trying to combat the sensation that he was attending his own execution.  
  
The loaded silence within the room expanded as Olivia listened to Fin and Munch arguing out in the bullpen. Just when she was about to start talking about sports or the weather so she wouldn't go insane, Cragen looked at her and said, directly to the point as always, "You deliberately disobeyed a direct order from me yesterday, and you did it because the two of you are sleeping together."  
  
Olivia opened her mouth, but Cragen raised his hand and cut her off. "You'll get your chance when I'm finished." He picked up a pen and leaned forward. "After the Romero thing, everyone here was fully aware of what was going on with you two, and you both know it. I let the ‘Don't ask, don't tell' policy continue because frankly, you're two of the best cops I've ever worked with, and you work better together than you do apart." He paused, looking past them to the door, before focusing his attention on Olivia once again. "But yesterday made it clear that we're operating under new rules, and since I have to answer for everything that happens within this unit, I can't ignore it anymore, as much as I might like to. So I'm ready to hear one good reason why I shouldn't separate you two effective immediately, and possibly even have one of you transferred out of the 1-6."  
  
Elliot felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach, and it wasn't the leftover ache from Destler's lucky gunshot. "If someone's getting transferred, I'm going," he said, his voice tight and angry. "I'm the one who wound up in the situation unprepared to handle it. Olivia only did what she did to cover my ass."  
  
Cragen snorted. "Well that's very gallant of you. But my guess is that had it been Munch or Fin, her reaction would have been different. Are you two actually trying to sell me on the bullshit idea that what happened yesterday had nothing to do with your personal relationship?"  
  
"No," Olivia replied immediately. "It did. You're right. I wouldn't have done the same thing if it had been Munch or Fin."  
  
Cragen sighed. "I'm still waiting for the reason I shouldn't separate you."  
  
Elliot cleared his throat, trying to rid himself of the thickness that permeated his chest. "If Olivia hadn't come in there yesterday, I'd be dead. You didn't see the look on Destler's face. I couldn't get to my gun. He would have gotten more and more desperate, and it was only a matter of time before he grabbed one of the three hundred guns he had in there and pulled the trigger. Her decision to come in, even if she might have handled the details better, saved my life. If she hadn't been in that van, no one would have picked up on the signals I was sending out. It's _because_ of our personal relationship that she knew how much I needed help." It felt strange to have the whole thing out in the open in front of Cragen, but right now there was nothing left to lose, so Elliot went with unvarnished honesty.  
  
Olivia squeezed the side of her chair, swallowing to combat the surge of, well, she wasn't even sure what it was that she felt for Elliot right now. Love, yes. But beyond that, something like amazement. He was falling on his sword for her, and doing it without a second thought. And while it made her halfway pissed-off that he wasn't letting her defend herself, she also loved him for how hard he was trying. It would kill both of them if one had to leave the unit. Somewhere along the way, their lives had become so completely interwoven that Olivia wouldn't have known how to separate the strands even if she wanted to.  
  
Cragen sat silent for a moment, considering Elliot's words. Olivia watched the bubbles in Cragen's soda water rise to the top and explode in little pops. He rubbed the back of his neck and said, more quietly this time, "Olivia, let's hear your version."  
  
 _Shit_. She tried not to think of how much depended on the next thirty seconds, on her exact choice of words. Ultimately, like Elliot, she chose to be honest. "Elliot was in trouble. I could tell by his tone of voice and what he said. It related to a conversation we'd had over breakfast, and he would never have said that unless the situation was out of his control. So I reacted instinctively. Yes, I heard you tell me not to go. But I couldn't stop myself, because I knew that time was running out. That's it. That's all the defense I've got." She looked straight at Cragen, scared but defiant.  
  
After a split second, Cragen sank back into his chair and sighed, the tiniest suggestion of a grin appearing on his face. "You two are going to kill me one day." He tapped his pencil against the desk until Olivia wanted to reach out and grab it. She noticed that Munch and Fin must have resolved their dispute, because the bullpen was now quiet.  
  
"I'm not going to split you up right now," said Cragen suddenly. Elliot felt the relief pour through him with such force that he was glad he'd opted to sit down. Olivia's eyes filled, and she blinked irritably.  
  
Cragen continued, amused at their respective reactions. "Keep in mind that this is all a work in progress. You two are in violation of the fraternization rules, and you know it. But for the moment I can get away with claiming ignorance unless you start making out in interrogation room three."  
  
Elliot coughed. Olivia flushed, annoyed at her inability to check her reactions.  
  
Clearly enjoying himself, Cragen continued, "However, you're not going to be working together as much as before. I'll keep pairing you off with Munch or Fin on occasion, and if I see any reason to believe that we're heading for a situation like this Destler thing, one of you will be yanked off the case so fast you won't know what hit you. Clear?"  
  
Elliot opened his mouth to say something, but Olivia shot him a look and he quickly closed it again. "Completely clear," she answered quietly.  
  
"Good," Cragen replied briskly. "In that case, I believe you both have an impressive amount of paperwork to catch up on. Get busy. And close the door behind you."  
  
They stood, walking out rapidly before Cragen had the chance to say anything that might indicate he'd changed his mind. Elliot drew the door shut and followed Olivia as she moved back toward their desks. The bullpen was now deserted, the quiet unusual and yet unbelievably welcome under the circumstances. Olivia pulled out her chair and sat, surveying her desk in something akin to shock. It was over. He hadn't separated them. She heard the squeak of Elliot's chair as he seated himself across from her, and she raised her eyes to meet his.  
  
He broke into a full-blown smile and stared at her face, aware that no one was around to see how he was gazing at her. She couldn't resist grinning back, and she turned away only when his expression became so intense that she started to feel hot. "Stop doing that," she muttered, fumbling through her drawer in search of a pen.  
  
"Sorry," he retorted, though he clearly wasn't. They had worked silently for about five minutes when Olivia was startled by the sound of something dropping with a soft thud on the desk right in front of her. She glanced up to see a silver Hershey's kiss that had somehow managed to land upright despite the odds. She looked at Elliot to say something, but his head was already buried back in his paperwork. Smiling, she unwrapped the chocolate and popped it into her mouth.


End file.
